


Burn up with the water

by jaybaybay



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Electrocution, Gen, Hallucinations, Human Experimentation, Hurt Peter Parker, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Really Character Death, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Sensory Deprivation, The Raft Prison (Marvel), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23658169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaybaybay/pseuds/jaybaybay
Summary: Spider Man died while millions watched. There was a fire. Then an explosion. And just like that, the famed hero was no more. The world mourned for their loss, then the world had moved on.Save for one.Tony Stark had last been seen when he spoke at Spider Man's public funeral, his demeanor had been calm and stoic; a stark contrast to when he had been seen only days before, screaming and clutching the disembodied torso of the cherished vigilante. Iron Man hadn’t been spotted in months. Not since the incident.Everyone knew Spider Man was dead.But somewhere, in a prison encased deep in the ocean… Peter Parker lived.(Oh look, another raft fic)
Relationships: Peter Parker & Thaddeus Ross, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 221
Kudos: 573





	1. The floods around the plains

**Author's Note:**

> hey! I know this trope is a little over done, but I have a ton of time on my hands and no better ideas, so I thought i'd give it a go. 
> 
> This chapter will be shorter than future ones because I want it to serve as an intro or a prologue of sorts before the real fun begins. I also have no editor and all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy xoxo

Smoke in his eyes. He couldn’t see.

“...My baby!” someone was screaming. He couldn’t see, but he ran anyway.

“Please, _please_...” he couldn’t see.

The fire was roaring in his ears.

There was no heartbeat. He couldn’t see.

“Locked inside… Spider Man!” 

He couldn’t see. He couldn’t…

Peter woke with a start, heart thundering and lungs spasming. He was choking, heaving with phantom smoke still trapped in his lungs, mind still believing that he was still stuck in the fire. He clutched at his burning chest as he gasped in the clean air of the room he was in, thin white blanket pooling around his waist and legs. 

Peter closed his eyes as his breathing finally evened out. He wasn’t there anymore, though he had no memory of how he had managed to escape. Peter paused to think how that could be. Perhaps he had passed out from lack of oxygen and Mr. Stark had swooped in to rescue him just like all the other times Peter was incapacitated? Had to be. 

Peter opened his eyes.

This was _not_ the medical facility he usually woke up in after a fight. With sleek metal panels for walls instead of the friendly cream-coloured paper curtains and decorations that were typically found in the Avengers compound, Peter instantly felt unease settle in his stomach. 

His senses buzzed in the back of his neck- a dull sensation but still there nonetheless. Peter swallowed against the wave of dread that washed over him, unsure of his misplacement. The room was also tiny and cubelar, a quick glance up and down the walls had him estimating that each of the panels couldn’t have been more than eight by eight square feet. Peter turned his head and met the only exit in sight.

And it had bars on it. 

“What the hell?” Peter leapt to his feet, slightly tripping over the blanket still wrapped around his ankles and stepped up to the door. He pressed his palms flat against the glass and pushed to no avail in every direction he could think of. He even tapped into his super strength and yet the door stood firm. He dropped his hands in defeat and looked out the clear panelling instead, taking in his surroundings. 

Three more identical rooms across from him, empty, save for their own small beds, desks, stools and small ventilation shafts in the upper corners identical to his own. One large metal door set on its own to his right. Peter could only assume that he had two matching cells on either side of his own. _Cells_. He felt his face lose all of its colour, suddenly lightheaded. 

In the reflection of the glass, he noticed what he was wearing. A blue uniform of sorts with a light grey undershirt, the numbers 005 etched into the blue fabric directly overtop of his left breastbone. 

This was wrong on so many levels. 

He did a full circle, the sound of his heartbeat gradually picking up its pace and booming inside his skull, bringing on a headache that he did _not_ need. He crouched down with his hands clasped over his ears in an attempt to block out the noise. He was in prison. There had to be some kind of mistake here. Mr. Stark would get him out. 

Peter breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. _Mr. Stark would get him out._ He was certain of it. Peter saved people, he didn’t deserve this. Right? He had to believe that things would be alright and most importantly to stay calm. Mr. Stark was always level headed and he was always able to get himself out of hairy situations. Peter willed his heart to stop racing. Panicking would do nothing good for him. 

Hesitantly, he brought his head out from between his knees. and spotted a camera in the corner of his cell- room. A blinking red light told Peter that someone was watching him from behind the lens. Peter stilled, maybe that’s what was triggering his spider-sense. He rose to his feet as steadily as his panicked limbs would allow, head cocked as he observed the small electronic device. 

Peter cleared his throat, “H-hello?” There was no response. Peter wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. “Pretty sure you’ve got the wrong guy here?” He let his voice rise a pitch at the end of his sentence, suddenly uncertain. What if they did have the right guy? What if these were the bad people Mr. Stark was always warning him to stay away from- what were they called again? Hydra. 

If that were the case, Peter may need to get himself out before Mr. Stark could come to save him. 

He stepped up to the far back wall, eyeing the ventilation shaft with a scrutinizing glare. It looked pretty small, but Peter knew he was good at fitting into tight spaces. He spread his fingers against the cool surface and began to crawl up the wall in his signature wall-crawler form. His toes had just left the ground when a burning sensation built up in the back of his neck and sent a jolt of fire down his spinal cord. He dropped to the floor in alarm, a hand flying up to grab at the source of pain and a small cry squeaking out of his throat.

“Ow! What the-” Peter froze as he felt it with his finger tips. A healing scar on the back of his neck and underneath it… _something_ was implanted. “Oh my God..” Peter scratched at his neck suddenly all too aware of the intrusion buried inside him, directly under the buzz of his spider-sense. He had been chipped. 

This was more than a simple prison.

Peter was finding it increasingly more difficult to breathe by the second. This situation was not ideal, nor was it necessary- Peter meant no harm to anyone. Even as Spider man, Peter did his best to leave the punishment of the criminals he fought up to the officials, all he ever tried to do was good. So why was he here? Peter glanced back up at the camera on the wall. 

He would have to wait and find out. 

And Peter did for hours, feeling all the more like he was losing his sanity due to the constant holler of his spider-senses sitting on the base of his neck. He itched at it relentlessly until he broke the skin around it and earned another jolt of electricity. It felt like a fly buzzing in his ear but no matter how many times he swatted at it it wouldn’t go away. Peter figured it would be there until he managed to get it removed. Barely anytime had passed since he had initially woken up and already he couldn’t stand it. 

He attempted to climb the wall once more but quickly realised that he would gather no results other than searing pain racing down his back and up into his skull. It seemed the more he tried it, the worse the pain got. Peter angrily kicked at the wall in protest and stuck his tongue out at the camera when nothing happened. Peter was terrible at waiting. 

He paced the floor, longing to be upside down once again- it was easier to think when dangling from a web- and examined the other objects in his room. Besides his single cot and blanket he had a small writing desk and stool but nothing to keep inside the open drawer. Hopefully that meant they would be giving Peter something to do eventually; a ball to throw or, hell, even his spanish homework. Peter was already dying of boredom.

He was sitting on the floor, back resting against his bed when he heard the heavy clang of metal on metal, machinery churning deep in the distance. Peter immediately perked and jumped to his feet, rushing to press his ear against the wall. He could make out the distinct sound of footsteps where there had only been silence moments ago, trying his best to distinguish exactly how many people were coming for him. It was difficult to be precise, but there were more than one. 

Peter pushed away from the wall as the door to the room outside his cell was opened and three men walked inside. Two were dressed head to toe in black tactical gear, though instead of handguns holstered at their hips, Peter noticed they carried some sort of high-tech batons; the sight made his hair stand on end. Despite this, his sole focus was on the man who stood in between the others, grey three piece suit, moustache, and a smug look on his face. Peter recognized him from somewhere, most likely from some textbook he had studied in school, but his name evaded him. 

Peter balled his hands into fists as the man clasped his together. “Peter Parker, finally a chance to meet you face to face.” The man spoke, his voice deep and serious despite the smirk on his lips and mirth in his eyes. 

“Who are you?” Peter kept his voice steady as he stared down the bigger man. The sight of whom sent spikes of fear directly into his heart and icy shards into his bloodstream. Though Peter couldn’t smell him through the bars on his cage, the man reeked of danger. “Why am I here?” He was terrified. 

“I am General Thaddeus Ross, but you will refer to me as ‘sir’ from here on out.” Ross took a step closer to Peter's cell, and Peter had to refrain from taking a step backwards in retaliation, suddenly glad that there was a wall between them. “...and you, _Spider Man_ need to stay up to date with the politics regarding enhanced individuals.” 

Thaddeus Ross… enhanced individuals… Peter's brain was moving a mile a minute. Until it clicked. He and Ned had been talking in class that day, but some part of Peter's mind had caught what they teacher had been talking about. 

“The Sokovia accords…” Peter mumbled and Ross’ smile grew as he nodded. “B-but Mr. Stark said-” Mr. Stark had said the issue was resolved and they were in the process of deteriorating. This shouldn’t be allowed to happen. 

“Tony Stark is a liar and out of his jurisdiction!” The man's entire demeanor changed at the mention of Mr. Stark's name and he snapped without warning. Peter was stunned into silence at Ross’ outburst. The man definitely had issues and Peter wasn’t in a rush to push his buttons. Slowly, Ross gathered himself, and Peter held his breath silently as he watched the man straighten his tie and smooth out his jacket, suddenly calm once again. “He was also quite selfish, keeping your identity hidden for so long. Now you’re my plaything.”

Peters' fear morphed into anger at Ross’ words. “I’m not anyone's _plaything_ , and I won’t be here long enough to become one. Mr. Stark will come for me.” Peter stated defiantly, confidence all but shattering when Ross started to laugh.

“No one is coming for you,” the old man chuckled, “as far as the media and your precious Tony Stark are aware, your body is laying in pieces in the Avengers facility morgue.” Ross broke off to check his wrist watch. “And we are running right on schedule.” 

Peter was taken aback. What did he mean _body_? Peter was- he was right here, alive and okay, he had a pulse and was breathing, blinking, thinking. If there was a body in the Avengers morgue, it wasn’t his. A fake… “Oh my god.” Peter whispered. They had faked his death. Peter shook his head in disbelief, the Avengers weren’t naive enough to fall for a fake body. They had to run tests and things- they would realize it wasn’t really him. 

Ross could see the conflict on his face. “I know you’re a smart kid. That’s why I thought it would be vital to show you this.” Ross waved a finger at one of the guards who stepped forward at the cue, pulled out a tablet and slid it through a small hatch at the bottom of Peters door, locking it from the outside.

Peter hesitantly crouched and picked it up off the floor. “What the hell is this?” He ground out between clamped teeth as his sensitive eyes were assaulted by the large yellow headline flashing across the screen. 

_“TONY STARK SPEECH IN HONOUR OF LATE SPIDER-MAN”_

“It’s live television.” Ross answered, hands in pockets. Peter could feel his eyes roaming his face drinking in the expression of anguish and disbelief that Peter knew he wore as he turned up the volume on the device. 

Mr. Stark stood at a podium in front of the old Avengers tower, dressed in a black suit and tie, eye bags a startling purple despite the heavy layers of makeup Peter could see applied there in an attempt to hide them from the public. His eyes were cast downwards, towards the cue cards in his hands and Peter could have laughed at the sight. Mr. Stark _not_ winging a speech? Since when? 

Since he thought Peter died.

 _“-der Man was more than a teammate and friend. He was like a son to me- my protege, if you would, but the loss of him weighs heavily on all our hearts today.”_ Tony's voice cracked at the end of his sentence and Peter watched as a solitary tear slipped down his mentors face. He had never seen Tony cry before and the sight broke Peter's soul in two. 

He really thought Peter was dead.

 _“I would ask you all, to remember Spider Man the way he was in life and not in his… his death. He didn’t ask for his powers. But he chose to be Spider Man. Just like you can choose to do great things, and just like we are counting on you to do them.”_ Tony paused to suck in a deep breath, obviously struggling to keep his composure. Peter felt his break as the camera changed angles and Peter spotted May in the crowd, crying silently. 

_“This is goodbye, Spider Man. You are gone, but you will never be forgotten._ Peters hands clenched around the tablet, denting the sides and cracking the screen. Tony was saying goodbye to more than Spider Man, he was saying goodbye to Peter. _”Thank you for your time here today.”_ Then Tony stepped back from the podium as the Iron Man armour enveloped him and he lifted off the ground in a blaze. The crowd gave one last mournful cheer, before the feed cut out and Peter was left to stare into the reflection of his empty eyes. 

This couldn’t be happening. If Mr. Stark truly thought that Peter was dead… then Ross was right. 

No one was coming for him. 

“Bullshit.” Peter tossed the tablet onto the ground. That had to be a farce of some sort, an actor or a modified recording. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

Ross raised his eyebrows as he glanced down at the broken tablet screen then back up at Peter. “I can see you’re going to be a tough one to break.” Out of his pocket he removed a sleek black remote, and without warning turned the dial and pressed the button. 

The agony was instantaneous, buckling Peters knees and sending him careening onto the floor, a strangled scream forcing its way up his throat. He managed to catch himself on his hands and knees as his bones flashed hot with fire then abruptly ended. Peter pushed himself onto his knees with trembling arms and heaving lungs. His head was heavy but he raised it anyways, meeting Ross’s eyes through the door of his cell. 

“You see kid, we have tools here to help us break in our prisoners who don’t follow the rules.” He held the remote up to the light so Peter could see it all the more clearly. “See this little thing here? It’s old Stark Industries technology actually- discontinued, of course, but I manage to get my hands on what I want. It’s going to be quite nifty, don’t you think?”

Peter slowly rose onto his feet, stumbling slightly due to shaky limbs. Ross looked impressed. “I think… that Mr. Stark is going to come find me… and when he does… you’re gonna be in deep shit.” Peter stepped forward and rested his knuckles against the glass to help him stay upright as his muscles recovered from their torment. 

Ross made to press the button on the remote again and Peter flinched in anticipation of the pain that didn’t come. Ross smiled as he hovered his finger over the button, teasing, taunting, tormenting. “You see? You’re already learning to obey.” Ross sauntered backwards and passed the remote to the guard on his left. “By the way the first rule here is ‘don’t talk back to your superiors’.” He gave a hand signal to the camera behind Peter and the cell door began to open slowly. Peter stepped back cautiously, he didn’t have the energy to run. “Perhaps my men here can teach you the rest.” 

The two guards stepped forward and removed their batons from their holsters. The ends crackled to life with electricity that vibrated through the air, and Peter prepared himself for a fight. 

This was not going to be fun.


	2. The planets in a rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He dreamt of fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I hope you're all healthy and staying indoors. It appears that there were a couple important things that I failed to mention in my authors notes in the last chapter! so sorry! I wanted to clarify that this story is set sometime after homecoming, in a blissful world where IW, EG and FFH didn't happen (or haven't happened yet) and the team talked things out after civil war instead of brooding. 
> 
> The title and chapter titles for this fic have been taken from the song 'Mary" by Big Thief. It's a beautiful song about having the innocence of childhood stripped away and I thought it would be fitting for this work! (yes I did steal it from The Umbrella Academy but who cares its a good song now go listen to it)
> 
> read away my little dudes

Peter sat on his bed, back to the wall, cradling his bruised ribs and nursing a bloody and swollen bottom lip. Apparently the guards cared more about beating him to a pulp than teaching him these so called ‘rules’ and Ross had just stood by and watched while it had gone down. Peter had put up a good fight, but the guards had a distinct advantage over him with the chip in his neck and remote in their hands. Their batons were equipped with tasers at the end and they particularly enjoyed jabbing Peter in the ribs with them, bruising and burning. 

There were four of these _dumb_ rules, but Peter had a feeling there were more they weren’t telling him. 

1.Don't talk back  
2.Don't fight back  
3.No displaying of powers  
4.Hands off the cell door

The last one had him wondering if the door wasn’t as indestructible as he had initially thought. 

“And if I refuse?” he had asked after spitting out a string of blood. He already knew the answer, but asked anyway. His only response had been a spike of electricity crackling through his veins and a humourless laugh at his noises of pain. Peter winced at the memory and wrapped his arms around his ribs. They ached alongside every beat of his heart. 

What was he to do now? He felt as if he had been locked up for days on end. Had it really been just this morning that May had been dancing in the kitchen while she burned their breakfast, Peter laughing alongside her and not complaining about the flavour? Peter laughed wetly. Now she thinks he’s dead. 

Peter hung his head in shame as the tears he had been trying to hold back ran freely down his face. First Ben had left her… now Peter. _The grief she must feel_. She thinks she's lost her entire family. “I’m so sorry, May…” Peter sobbed quietly before attempting to console himself. Mr. Stark would look out for her until he managed to make it back home, Peter thought- if Tony wasn’t too much of a mess himself. 

It hurt to think back on Tony's face at the funeral. Peter knew he put up a front at all times when in public, but it didn’t take an expert to see through the cracks in his facade. Mr. Stark was hurting, and hurting badly. He wished he could hug him one last time. 

And the crowd that had shown up to listen, people holding signs and poster’s, faces obscured by the handmade masks they wore, stood in abundance. Mourning. Grieving. Mourning and grieving _him_. So many people believed that Spider Man- that Peter Parker was dead and gone. Cut off from society, Peter realized that he was well and truly dead to the world. 

_No,_ Peter thought. He may be alone now but Tony would come to save him. That’s just what he did, he saved Peter when Peter needed saving. 

There had to be some kind of questions raised about the circumstances of his “death”. Like how they had taken him… if only he could remember what had happened. But there had to be clues, had to be cookie crumbs to follow, something, _something_ that screamed wrongwrongwrong that Tony could latch onto and follow. Even a man as powerful as Ross made mistakes. 

Peter had to believe it. _Had to_. Because if he didn’t, he would be accepting the fact that he was alone, no help was coming, and he might as well be dead. 

Peter was startled from his dark thoughts by the sound of the floor hatch being opened, and a tray of food was slid through. 

Peter looked away. He was hungry, but wasn’t willing to even poke at the plate- wanting to savour the remnants of Mays cooking before he succumbed to the bland flavour of prison food. The only flavour he would likely have for the days to come. 

Peter was optimistic, but he wasn’t stupid. He could die here before Tony could even start to piece together the mystery of his death (if Tony could piece it together at all). He doubted that Ross’s intentions towards him were going to be anything but kind, with the old man already demonstrating hefty amounts of sadism and ill will. Peter would need to put together an escape plan sooner rather than later if he wanted to make it out of here alive.

Time passed, and Peter couldn’t tell whether it had been minutes or hours since the guard had delivered him food when the lights suddenly went out. At first, Peter thought that the power had gone out but the red light on the camera in his room said otherwise. It took mere moments for Peter's eyes to adjust to the darkness, the only source of light coming from the chamber just beyond Peter's cell. They wanted him to sleep now.

Peter eased himself onto his side as gently as he could with his sore ribs, and rested his tear streaked face on the pillow. The dark was slightly more comforting than the light. He found if he closed his eyes he could imagine that he was back in his bed in his apartment, May sleeping soundly just down the hall. It was close to serenity. But there was no sound of the T.V left on or scent of the soil from the fern that Peter always tripped over. No soft summer breeze that tousled his hair after he snuck in through the window post a late night of Spider-manning, and no duvet that smothered him in warmth and the safety of home. 

His first instinct was to resist the call of sleep, just as he had resisted the food that had been brought to him, but deep down Peter was exhausted from the day's events and knew that he would heal faster if he rested. So he pulled the little blanket up and over his shoulders. Laying curled on his side to keep warm, he drifted off to sleep, wary of the danger that would come in the morning. 

He dreamt of fire.

“Peter… Peter, _wake up_!” brown hair. Frightened eyes. _May_.

“The building… fire…” Her grip on his arm was painful.

“Get yourself out… have to help them…” Peter heard his own voice through the haze of the nightmare but couldn’t see through the fog as the memory shifted and May was gone. 

He was running. Flame licked the sides of his suit. 

“Help me!” someone screeched and Peter ran faster.

The smoke was thick and he couldn’t see.

“Please… my baby… Spider Man!” 

The fire engulfed him.

He couldn’t see.

Peter awoke to the sounds of something shifting next to him and he sat up with a start, immediately on edge, nearly forgetting where he was. His ribs didn’t protest as he twisted to see what the cause of the commotion was, and Peter was thankful for his healing factor. 

In the artificial lighting Peter could see that Someone had replaced his tray of food from the night before with a new set. It was the most unappealing bowl of oatmeal Peter had ever seen, but his stomach still clenched in desire anyway. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had last eaten, and if he continued ignoring the food his health would deteriorate rapidly due to his enhanced metabolism. He needed the strength that only food could provide if he wanted to escape. 

So Peter slid off of the bed and onto the floor with achy muscles. After folding himself into a cross-legged position and pulling the tray closer to himself, he picked up the plastic spoon and scooped the oatmeal straight into his open mouth. _It was cold_. He swallowed against the wave of disgust and hastily shovelled the rest into his mouth, washing it down as fast as he could with the lukewarm water they had also given him. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do for now. Finished, he set the tray back onto the floor in front of the hatch so the guard could collect it easily (and to avoid getting shocked) and returned to pacing the small space, stretching out the knots of sleep as he went. 

That dream he had had… It had felt so real, yet the more he thought about it the more it evaded him- slipping out of his memory like sand through open hands. Were they pieces of what actually happened to him? He knew there was a fire and that he was working as Spider Man, but between then and how he had been replaced with the pieces Ross had said were in the morgue, was completely blank. 

What was he missing?

Two of Ross’ guards chose that moment to enter the chamber, but the man himself was nowhere in sight. Peter let out a small sigh of relief. These guys were mean but they would be easier to handle without their boss around. 

“Howdy boys, how’s it going?” Peter tried to make himself come across as nonchalant as possible, rubbing his hips awkwardly as he discovered that his uniform didn’t come equipped with pockets that he could slide his hands into. Dang.

“Rule one, bug.” The guard spoke in a low voice, revealing the sleek black remote from one of the pockets on their utility belt. Peter felt heat build up in the back of his neck. A warning.

He had taken on worse and far scarier foes before. The Vulture, Captain America- Peter wasn’t intimidated. “Actually, I spoke first so technically _you_ are talking back to-” The guard pressed the button and Peter cut himself off with a grunt of pain as he doubled over in misery. He saw that one coming a mile away.

“On your knees, hands by your head!” They ordered as the other dialed in digits on the other side of the wall. The cell door began to open and Peter begrudgingly got on his knees as they both stalked towards him menacingly. Kneeling was a form of submission that humiliated Peter to no end, but he had to do it or they would only hurt him more. He would never be able to overpower them unless he managed to get his hands on the remote to his chip.

Together the two guards manoeuvred Peters arms from the sides of his head to behind his back, securing them together with cold metal cuffs that wrapped thickly and snugly around his wrists. Peter tested them as he was hoisted to his feet. They didn’t budge an inch. 

Vibranium. 

One of the guards pulled a dark-toned sack from their belt and pulled it over Peter's head, effectively obscuring his vision. Peter stumbled when they abruptly shoved him forward, their hands tightening around either of his biceps as they marched him onward. Peter wasn’t expecting this. He had just assumed that he would be stuck in the puny cell forever and ever- until he managed to escape. He didn’t think going for walks was going to become a part of his regime here. They must be taking him somewhere. 

Peter counted the steps and the corners that they took to the best of his ability, but all was lost when they stopped to spin him in several circles, screwing with his sense of direction entirely. 

Eventually they stopped and removed the sack and cuffs and pushed him into a new room. 

“You have five minutes.” The gruff voice said, before slamming the door in his face and locking it from the outside. 

Peter took in his new surroundings. He was in… a washroom? There was a toilet to his left with a new uniform folded cleanly on top, a sink to his right sans a mirror, and a shower head on the far back wall complete with a little bar of soap on a shelf, and a towel hanging from a small hook. 

Maybe Ross wasn’t as heartless as he appeared. 

Peter set to using the facilities, glad that there was no camera in this room, but disappointed that there were no other ways out of the room other than the door that he had entered through. He jumped in the shower but nearly jumped back out after he turned on the taps and freezing cold water assaulted his naked body. He scrubbed himself clean anyway, shivering after the first few seconds under the spray due to his body's inability to thermoregulate. There was no shampoo to wash his hair with so he mushed the soap in between his fingers until he had a fine paste and rubbed that in his damp locks. It would have to do.

Peter stared closely at the shower head after turning off the taps. With another glance around the room to double check that there were no cameras, he pulled himself up the wall to get a closer look at how it was put together. Two screws held the panel to the wall, if he could get one loose...

The guards pounded on the door. “One minute!” 

Peter unstuck himself from the wall and hastily towelled off, throwing the clean uniform over his half-dried body, eager to get some warmth back to his bones. 

The guards let themselves in just as Peter pulled his socks back on. “On your knees and hands by your head, insect.” Peter was starting to think they should add that order onto their list of rules. 

He did as he was told, and they repeated the same process that he had gone through not ten minutes prior, cuffing his hands together and placing the sack back over his damp head. They dragged him to his feet like he weighed nothing and Peter heard the sharp noise of the door shutting behind them as they walked forwards again. Something was different. Peter may have lost track of where they had come from, but he could tell that they were not going back the way they came. He had to physically bite his tongue to keep from voicing his concerns. 

They walked for much longer than they did the first time before they finally came to a stop. Peter's nose scrunched in distaste of the potent scent of antiseptic that burned his nose hairs as he inhaled. This room stunk like a hospital. 

The bag over his head was removed.

Harsh lighting burned at his retinas as his eyes adjusted from the dark to the stark whiteness that now assaulted his vision. The room was larger than the other two he had been inside since the beginning of his stay here, and multiple people dressed in scrubs and doctor masks bustled about busily. In the center of the room stood Ross, next to a tall operation table complete with restraints. 

Peter knew exactly who the setup was for the moment he saw it. 

So he panicked, like any other normal human being would. Without warning Peter kicked out the knees of the guard to his left and headbutted the one on his right before turning and aiming for the door in a dead sprint. He didn’t make it very far. 

Peter fell hard on his shoulder as his muscles twitched and jerked with pure agony, his screams were stuck in his chest with the intensity of his pain. It didn’t stop until the guards were back on top of him, pressing his face into the cold floor, and pinning his arms and legs with their larger limbs. He still struggled with all his might until something pricked the back of his neck and his limbs fell heavy with lead. 

“Peter, Peter, Peter. Just _where_ did you think you’re going?” Ross tisked as he casually strolled over to the struggling teenager on the floor. “You like science, don’t you kid? We’re just gonna run some tests.” 

Peter thrashed though it was becoming increasingly more difficult by the second. There was _no way_ he was going on that damn table, just so they could poke at him and prod him. He wasn’t some science experiment, he was a person, a goddamned human being and they were _not_ going to… he was… he was _tired._ The room spun lazily around him and his struggles died down as voices faded in and out of his mind. 

“...he should be unconscious by now…” Peter was floating, barely aware of the rough hands that were lifting him off of the ground.

“Give him more.” That Ross dude said.

“Yes, sir.” 

Another prick. Then. 

Silence. 

Peters felt wrong. His body was heavy and sick as it lagged through its commands from his brain. He squinted through blurry eyes. His head spun and his stomach felt like outright _hell_. 

Blearily he realised that he was back in his cell as he lifted his head to take a closer look at his source of pain. His shirt was gone, and instead he wore thick white bandages wrapped around his midsection. 

“...what-” Peter groaned in pain and his eyes burned as a wave of pain pummeled into his gut like a slap to the face. Peter's breath hitched. He felt like someone had scooped out his innards, stirred them around, then stuffed them back inside. _What had they done to him?_

He looked back down after the worst of the pain passed and clumsily patted over the wrappings in search of the end of the bandage. His fumblings produced nothing and instead he used his powers to rip through them, layer after layer after layer, his desperation increasing as the pain grew tenfold, tears streaming freely down his head and pooling in his ears, unwrapping and tearing until he reached the centerpiece. 

Peter froze.

In his stomach was an incision that began just above his navel and ended directly below his rib cage. The entire region was caked with black blood, and the only thing holding his stomach together was the neat row of black stitching. It was more than gruesome to look at.

A gasp of complete horror escaped his lips.

Peter swallowed back his bile, then promptly passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why is it SNOWING in APRIL  
> i love canada. 
> 
> as usual, I love kudos and reading what you liked (or disliked) about dis story! comment away fuckers:)  
> love you all


	3. Who knows what they contain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker yearned for them. To be held. To hold a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're entering some of the good whump now so stay buckled up, the ride is just getting started. 
> 
> For my lovely friends who were wondering, "hey where's the heck is Tony why is he letting this happen to his boy!?" the answer is, he is coming and hes gonna be bringing his own POV, but it's going to be in a few more chapters after I've finished busting Peters hopes and dreams:) okay? okay. 
> 
> lets get started

It took almost a week to heal from the non-consensual surgery, and in that time, Peter found himself growing used to prison life- much to his discontent. 

The first two days had been the worst. Peter had struggled to sit up on his own without passing out from the pain, and had to resort to crawling across the floor just to reach his food, choking on sobs the entire time. On the third day he had attempted to stand, but ripped open his stitches and had to be half carried, half dragged back to the medical room just to have them replaced so he wouldn’t bleed out on the floor. The fourth day was easier. He was able to sit up with minimal pain, and if he stood up slowly without straightening up all the way he could stand without tugging on the sutures embedded in his skin. 

Now it was the fifth day and Peter hadn’t been bothered by Ross and his lackeys since the third. It was nice, but in a sad way, Peter missed having people to interact with- to talk to. Peter smiled as he gently prodded at the deep pink scar that ran underneath his stitches, he and Mr. Stark could talk about nothing and everything for _hours_ , and if they had enough caffeine, they could probably go for days. Peter chuckled to himself; May and Pepper wouldn’t be happy if they attempted to do that though. 

Peter questioned if he would ever see them again. 

He wondered, did they miss him? Surely they still would, it had only been days since the incident after all. And what about his friends, Ned and Michelle, hell, even Flash, did they mourn for Peter Parker? 

Peter Parker yearned for them. To be held. To hold a hand. 

He was almost used to life here now, but he couldn’t let go of the life he used to live. Lego sessions with Ned, Buzzfeed Unsolved marathons with Michelle, spending time in the workshop with Tony, sometimes working, sometimes talking about girls and whatnot. But he missed his aunt May most of all. He dreamed about her singing to him as a child after his parents had died more than the nightmares of that accursed fire- her fingers rubbing circles on his back after a nasty run in with bullies, baking pizza for breakfast, and snoring loudly on the couch after passing out while watching a soap opera post a long shift at the hospital. 

Now he was alone. 

Tony would rescue him. The billionaire just needed time. Peter just wished he would hurry up. 

There were things that went on here that they hadn’t cared to explain to Peter. Things like the frequent storms that raged in this part of the world, thunder so heavy it sent vibrations down Peter's skin, and regulations like how the lights remained on for 16 hours and off for 8. Food also came every five hours while the lights were on and always consisted of cold oatmeal (though once and a while some veggies would be thrown onto his dinner plate), and every so often the ventilation shaft would pump some warm air into Peter's frigid cell. 

His only friends were the hum of the light bulbs in the ceiling and the scratchy texture of the blanket that he kept wrapped snugly around his shoulders at all times. Peter found that he was constantly cold here. It probably had something to do with the fact that Ross didn’t know about all the effects of his mutations, and how it affected his ability to thermoregulate. But even if he did, would he be kind enough to turn up the heat? Peter doubted it, but figured that with the way things were going Ross would likely sort it out on his own anyway. 

Peter was just starting to doze off out of sheer boredom when his sensitive ears picked up on the telltale sounds of multiple pairs of feet walking in his direction. He curled further into himself protecting his abdomen from further torture. He wanted visitors but not the kind that was coming for him, wary of the things they would do to him this time. 

Peter flinched as they entered the chamber and he listened as they typed in the password to his cell and stepped through the open door instead of shocking him and demanding that he stand.

“Sit up, Parker. Hands above your head.” Ross stated, sounding annoyed. Peter did as he was told, taking it slowly and stiffly to avoid hurting himself, he propped himself up against the wall and placed his hands by his ears. Ross stood with his arms folded across his chest and was accompanied by two guards once again. 

Peter smiled brightly in an attempt to piss Ross off, the expression feeling foriegn on his cheeks. “Oh hey, I didn’t see you there.” Ross scoffed and quirked an eyebrow before he waved someone else into the cell. “Nice of you to join me. Though if I knew you were coming I would’ve tidied up for you.” 

“Zip it, kid.” Ross finally quipped back and removed the remote from his pocket as a threat. A man in a white lab coat and scrubs approached Peter with a medical kit in hand. Peter felt his heart stutter, wondering what experiments he would have to endure now. 

“Lay down and lift your shirt.” The doctor commanded and Peter rolled his eyes as he stiffly cooperated. They literally just told him to sit up. A small zap racing down his back told him that Ross considered facial expressions to be a form of talking back, and Peters body tensed against his will. When it was over Peter clenched his jaw and aimed his glare up at the ceiling to avoid further punishment, the fact that he was used to the painful sensation created a sick feeling in the pits of his stomach. 

Peter revealed the operation site to the doctor and the man prodded at his stitches, humming in contempt as he went. “You were right sir. The subject does have an advanced healing factor, these are ready to come out.” 

Ross’ gaze washed over Peter with hungry eyes as the doctor relayed the information. Peter did all that he could to restrain himself from punching the doctor in the face for sharing such personal information with the man Peter hated most in the world. This man had hurt him and Peter couldn’t just lay there and let him torment him further. But Peter could do nothing with the guards hovering over top of him and that damned remote in Ross’ hand. 

Weren’t doctors supposed to help people? Peter wondered how Ross managed to get his hands on all these sadistic bastards willing to do his bidding. Maybe they were good people, but had been told that Peter was deserving of this harsh treatment- they could just be following orders and didn’t deserve to be hurt anymore than Peter did. 

Peter's fingers twitched once with anger, then stilled. If he did harm to this man who was innocent then Peter _would_ be deserving of this treatment. Spider Man saved people, and so did Peter Parker. 

“Do what you must.” Ross ordered but the doctor hesitated, looking down at Peter with unmasked fear. Ross seemed to sense this, “He won’t hurt you. Will you insect?” 

Peter swallowed and kept his gaze up at the ceiling, Ross knew exactly what he was thinking. He always did. “No, sir.” 

Ross tipped his head towards Peter's prone body and gave the doctor a look that read ‘go ahead, then’. The doctor seemed to accept Peters admission and pulled the stool close to Peters bed, opened his medical kit, and set to work removing the thread from Peters skin. Peter tried not to squirm at the feeling of something slithering through his still healing flesh and hissed under his breath when the doctor finished and wiped down his abdomen with an antiseptic cloth.

Peter had had stitches removed before, but this was the first time he went through it without holding Tony's hand. 

“You can sit up now.” the doctor said as he finished cleaning up his things, and Peter once again, did as he was told. He kept his eyes downcast as the men shuffled around in the tight space to let the doctor place the stool back by the desk. Peter glanced up in time to see Ross grab a hold of the doctor's arm just as he was about to leave the cell. He stared down at Peter with a purely evil glint in his eyes.

“I want you to administer that new drug you’ve been testing.” Peter felt his eyes go wide at the word ‘drug’ and he sat up straighter in fear and alarm. 

The doctor looked down at Peter then back up at Ross. “But, sir, that drug is only in its initial stages… it- it isn’t anywhere near being ready for human experimentation, even one with enhancements-” 

“Did I _ask_ for your professional opinion, doctor?” Ross seethed and yanked the man closer to his face. Peter felt sorry for the poor man as he nodded hastily and Ross released him with a shove. “Prepare it, then return here.” 

The doctor stumbled away from the older man. “Yes, sir.” 

Ross watched the man leave the chamber before he turned to face Peter, hands clasping together in front of himself. “Well, Parker, you’re in for a treat.” 

Peter kept his focus on the leg of the desk in front of him and gave no form of acknowledgement to the man who towered over him. He doubted that anything Ross gave him could be considered a ‘treat’. 

“Nothing to say for once? I’m impressed.” Ross placed the remote on the desk and took a seat on the stool, directly in front of Peter's line of sight. “Did we finally manage to shut you up?” 

Peter leaned back against the wall, folding his legs underneath himself. The guards removed their weapons at Peter's sudden movement and he threw his hands up by his head as he got more comfortable. “No need to get over excited boys, my butt is just going numb.” 

The corner of Ross’ lips twitched and he waved off the guards who relaxed at once. “Perhaps not…” he hummed as he stared Peter down.

“Many have tried, but none have succeeded my guy.” Peter slowly lowered his hands and wrapped them around his midsection protectively. It may be healed enough to have the stitches removed, but it still throbbed painfully with any sharp movements Peter made. 

“What else hasn’t changed with you? You still think Tony Stark is going to magically realize you’re not dead?” Ross barked with a laugh.

Peter kept his expression and tone serious. “He’ll come for me.”

“We’ll see about that.” Ross leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “How long do you think it will take for your mind to change? A month? Maybe a year, or a whole decade… It’ll be so much fun to watch you crack under the weight of it all.” Ross speculated out loud, watching Peter's face like a hawk for any change in his expression.

Peter did his best to stay stoic, but the verbal jabs stung at his heart. How could Ross be so confident? There were so many things that Ross knew that Peter didn’t- all because he had access to the outside world. Did something happen to Mr. Stark that was keeping him away for so long? Or had his death really been _that_ believable. 

“That’s not going to happen.” Peter ground out through clenched teeth.

Ross smirked, “I’d love to know why you think that.”

“I know Mr. Stark. He’s a certified genius. Do you really think something as asinine as a fake body would be enough to keep him from finding me?” Peter's voice rose as emotion flooded into his words; he had been longing to voice his opinion for days and now it was all spilling out of him in a giant rush. He no longer cared what the consequences would be. “You are an outright _idiot_ for thinking you can keep me here forever. When Mr. Stark finds me- and he will- you are a dead man Thaddeus Ross.” 

The slap was as sharp as he was expecting it to be. It felt good. Peter licked blood off of his split lip; he had hit something that hurt Ross and the result was more than worth it. 

“You may not be here forever, but you will be here until the day you die.” Ross stood as the doctor finally returned, picking the remote back up and placing it in his pocket as he went. “And if your Tony Stark does manage to sift through the distraction that your death truly was, all he is going to find is another dead body.”

Chills ran down Peter's spine at Ross’s words. He wasn’t ready to die. 

The doctor produced a vial of orange liquid and an empty syringe from his coat pocket. With precise movements, he pushed the tip of the needle into the concoction and began to pull the plunger, stopping halfway. Peter felt his heart rate pick up its pace out of unbidden fear. He hated needles and any kinds of drugs- untested or not they terrified them to the core of his being. 

“Give him the full dose.” Ross ordered, growing all the more smug as Peter's panic increased. 

“But sir, a full dose could prove to be fatal…”

“We can take that risk.” 

Peters eyes widened and pressed himself further against the wall as the doctor filled the syringe all the way. Ross had been serious about not caring whether Peter lived or died. The man gave a signal to the guards and they stepped towards him, one pressing his shoulders against the wall so he couldn’t squirm away from the doctor, and the other forced his arm away from his midsection, straightening it all the way out and flipping it so the crook of his elbow faced the ceiling. Peter kicked out against them as they advanced and earned a shock from the chip in his neck.

“Stop, stop… _please don’t_...” Peter begged as the doctor tied an elastic around his bicep and began flicking at his exposed veins. “Please, I don’t…” He made eye contact with Ross, “...I don’t want to die.”

The doctor stuck the needle in without hesitation, Peter instantly feeling lightheaded at the sight of the thin metal sliding in and out of his body. Something cold flooded his veins and slithered through his blood stream descending upon his entire being. 

“When does it take effect?” Ross asked as the guards released him from their hold. 

Sweat ran in rivulets down Peters back and he shook with tremors as he snaked his arms back around his midsection. The blood under the injection site was begging to boil and Peter began to simultaneously feel hot and cold in his skin. 

“Any moment now.” The doctor responded. 

Peter choked on his saliva as his eyes rolled back into his head and he seized.

He was on fire. 

Melting in his own skin with the heat of his fever, dripping with perspiration as his limbs shook and his teeth chattered. His heart thundered inside his ribcage, demanding to be let loose, while strange images danced in front of his closed eyelids. Was this what it felt like to die?

“Peter, _wake up_!”

“May…” he cried for his surrogate mother. He couldn’t wake from the nightmare no matter how hard he tried. His eyes were open but all he saw was thick black smoke. 

“The building, it’s on fire… we have to get out!” 

A fire. Is that why he was so hot? 

“May… help me…” Couldn’t she see he was already burning?

“I can’t… Peter there’s gasoline on the stairwell…” 

“Please.. May, please…” Peter whined. Why wouldn’t she help him? He reached for her but no one took his hand.

“Go get ‘em, tiger.” she stroked the side of his face then shimmered out of his sight.

“No… don’ leave me…” Peter tried to go after her but was shoved back down by unknown forces. “Please don’ go…” 

“Help me!” someone screamed, and Peter clamped his hands over his ears as the voice echoed inside his head. His lungs stuttered as smoke was invited inside and he gagged with the taste of copper on his tongue. 

“Spider Man! Please, my baby… locked inside…” 

Peter could do nothing but squirm in misery as the unknown force was back and peeling his clenched fingers out of his hair.

“Please… _please_ , my baby…” 

Peter groaned when he found he could no longer move, no longer writhe in suffering in attempts to escape his pain. His heart pounded against his sternum and Peter longed to tear it out of his chest and crush it in his grip to stop it beating. He longed for death to take him. 

But that wasn’t an option. 

Peter could only think of one person who could take the pain away, and he ached to hear his voice inside of his head instead of the crying and screaming woman. “Mr. Stark…” Peter felt something run out of the corner of his mouth when he opened it to speak. “I don’t.. I don’t want to die…” 

Something frigid was placed on his forehead and Peter gasped at the sensation of cold relief, leaning into it as much as he could. 

“Tony… Tony…” he whimpered as his mentors hands combed through his hair. “I wan’ to go home…”

There was no response, and Peter fell asleep, content with the belief that he was safe in Tony's arms.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't do drugs kids


	4. And my brain is like an orchestra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month passed, and nothing changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy howdy lets get rowdy
> 
> WARNINGS: there's some violence in this chapter that is a tad bit more extreme than canon-typical stuff

Peter fell in and out of consciousness as the drugs worked their course. 

He lost track of time. He lost track of everything, as everything slipped by in a whirlwind of noise and colour. 

Blurry. Jumbled. Disjointed. 

When his fever finally broke, the first thing he did was cry. For himself, and everyone he had ever loved. Because he was forgetting. What they sounded like when they spoke about their favourite things, and how their faces crinkled when they smiled. They didn’t deserve to be forgotten, and Peter cursed himself for it.

The first brick layer of his mental walls took their place, and they were labelled hatred. 

Peter hated Ross for taking him away from his family, and he hated himself for getting bit by that damned spider in the first place. If he didn’t have powers he wouldn’t be in this mess. But more than anything, Peter was ashamed. Ashamed that it had taken a near-death experience to convince him that he needed to get the hell out of there. It was about time Peter accepted the truth.

Tony wasn’t coming for him. He thought he was dead, as did the rest of the world.

He was on his own.

In his flashes of lucidness he was able to discern the fact that he was still inside his cell, albeit surrounded by medical equipment and hooked up to monitors, but now that he had recovered (mostly), they had left him on his own. 

Now that Peter could count the days again, he surmised it had been three days since he had broken out of the thralls of fever, and the hours since then had returned to their usual lack of substance. 

He would wake up to the harsh fluorescent lights above his head and start his day. Breakfast would come soon after the lights came on and Peter would eat. When he was finished he would slide the tray next to the hatch and begin to exercise the best he could in the cramped space of his cell. Jumping jacks and sit ups got his blood pumping hot enough to return some of the warmth to his bones. After that, he would sit on his bed, cross his legs underneath himself, place his hands on his knees, close his eyes, and listen. Metal moved and creaked around him. And in the distance, _always_ in the distance, something heavy pounded against the walls of the prison and shook the building ever so slightly. Thunder? 

Other times he would just think, and other times he would voice what he was thinking out loud, but he didn’t do it often for fear of judgement from whoever was watching him through the camera feed. 

He did it to relive the memories of a time gone by. He wasn’t sure how much time he had missed when he had been drugged, se he guessed that roughly two weeks had passed since he had been kidnapped. Two weeks without his family. Two weeks since he had died.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

After lunch was when he was taken to the shower room, and on the odd day the guards would drug him after his five minutes of privacy were up, and he would wake up back in his cell drowsy, and in immense pain. It made Peter sick, when he sat and reflected on what his life had become. He was nothing now. A lab rat.

He had to get out- that much was clear.

If he wasn’t in bad shape after a lab session, he would eat his dinner, then pace his cell, plotting and planning his escape plan. He needed to find a way to get the remote from the guards if he wanted a fighting chance to get out. That chip in his neck was a true hindrance and he wouldn’t be able to get very far if they activated it. 

And the camera in his room… that would also be hard to work around. Peter stared hard at the blinking red light. They were always watching him.

One day at lunch, Peter was given a pencil and a few sheets of paper alongside his usual meal. Peter scarfed down his cold food and set the paper and pencil on his desk with haste. Finally something to do. He glanced up at the camera… maybe a reward for his good behaviour as of late? Peter snorted. He was only good while he waited for the guards to slip up so he could overcome them. 

Peter drew. 

He drew Mr. Stark with a huge grin on his face. He drew Aunt May asleep on the couch, glasses askew and her flyaway hair. Peter was in no means an artist, but he put all his effort into his drawings anyway, sketching and scribbling and smudging until his dinner tray came and the lights went out. 

He took his drawings and crawled into bed, cradling them close to his chest as he went. The darkness only outlined their features and Peter smiled genuinely for the first time in weeks, caressing the image softly as if it were their skin. Gently, he folded the papers up and tucked them inside his pillowcase where they would (hopefully) remain safe and untouched by cruel hands. He felt safer with it there, and he laid down to rest. 

In the morning his day repeated itself: wake up, eat, workout, listen, eat, shower, lab, and the newly added drawing session. He moved on from Mr. Stark and May and attempted to draw his friends instead. He started with Ned, drawing him at a computer with the words ‘Guy in the Chair’ overtop of him. Then he moved on to Michelle. She was a bit difficult to capture in one image so he drew three. One of her hunched over a book, one of her smiling at him, and another with her eating a piece of toast. She had once said that her friends called her MJ… Peter liked that nickname. 

Dinner came and Peter ate while he worked- careful not to spill on his masterpieces as he went. They had brought him some carrots with his oatmeal and Peter ate them happily, the change was gladly welcomed. He remembered a time when Ben used to always make a fuss about Peter needing carrots for dinner.

“They’ll help his eyesight, May!” he had said.

May had only ruffled his hair. “He has glasses for a reason, sweetheart.” 

Peter put his tray back in front of the hatch. May was still alive, but it still felt like he had lost both of them, and technically he had in one way or another.

The next day Peter tried drawing the avengers, grateful for the replacement pencil and sheets of paper. He settled on the floor, laying on his stomach and giggled as he drew Captain America. “We shot him in ze legs because his shield is the size of a dinner plate, and he’s an idiot.” Peter quoted in a terrible german accent as he kicked his legs in the air. 

He kept his new drawings inside his desk, filled with glee at the image of him owning belongings once again. 

A month passed, and nothing changed. 

Until... something happened that Peter wasn’t expecting. 

The lights flickered.

He was sitting at his desk when it happened, writing instead of drawing, about the time he and Mr. Stark had accidentally flooded the penthouse washroom with a horrid concoction of bubble bath and web-fluid. Pepper had been mad until she caught sight of Tony and Peter glued together and had laughed until the two hours were up and the web-fluid dissolved. 

Peter could hear the storm raging outside without even having to concentrate, but it still took him by surprise when the lights went off, then on, then off, then back on again. 

He raised an eyebrow and spun around slowly on his stool. A power fluctuation was definitely new, and Peter wasn’t going to waste an opportunity if one presented itself. He checked the room and one thing caught his attention almost immediately. The camera.

It wasn’t blinking.

Peter jumped to his feet and stepped up to it, observing it closely. There was no flashing red light that he had grown accustomed to, and the neck of it was slanted in a downward tilt. It was off. Peter gasped as his heart began to race in excitement and adrenaline. Was this his chance?

Noises to his left had his head snapping to the side. Two sets of feet were running down the corridor outside of the chamber to his cell. He had no time to think, the guards were coming and they were coming fast. Peter swallowed, took one last glance at the camera and jumped to the ceiling, bracing for a shock that never came. 

Peter opened his eyes and looked down upon his room from a birds eye view. It felt so good to use his powers again. He swiftly scurried to the upper lip of the cell door as the guards came sprinting inside the chamber. 

“He’s not inside!” One of them shouted and Peter pulled his body tighter to the ceiling to avoid being seen. 

“He has to be, check under the bed!” One of the guards typed in the passcode to Peters cell and the door slowly began to open. Sweat began to form in beadlets on Peter's skin and his heart was like a drum beat in his ears. 

Peter watched with bated breath as one of the guards entered and flipped up the mattress on Peters bed, before turning to speak with his comrade. “I’m telling you, he’s gotten out.” 

The other stepped inside and Peter spotted his ticket out in the hands of the new comer. The remote. 

“Vibe check!” Peter hollered before unsticking himself and dropping directly on top of the man with the remote, sending it sliding across the floor. The second guard gawked in surprise before he went sprinting for it and Peter latched onto his ankle, tripping him and sending him crashing to the floor as well. 

Peter pulled himself off the ground just for the first man to tackle Peter back to the floor instantly, giving the second guard time to recover from the fall. Peter landed on his stomach and threw his head back into the man's face as he landed on Peter's back, feeling something crunch under the impact of skull against helmet. The man grunted in pain but didn’t let go so Peter pulled an arm loose and elbowed the guard in the ribs with significant force (not hard enough to kill, the man probably had a family), and he let go with a wheeze. 

Peter was on his feet in split second, diving for the remote just as the guard did. Time seemed to move in slow motion as they flew through the air, Peter's hand wrapping around fabric covered flesh as the man’s wrapped around metal. They landed in a heap on the floor, neither letting go of what they had caught in their fists. The man was triumphant but Peter wasn’t accepting defeat.

Without an ounce of compassion, Peter gave one look at the hand in his and the remote inside it. He squeezed as hard as he could, the sound of bones shattering under his grip only fueled him onwards as the guard screamed mercy. Peter wasn’t finished until the remote was as mangled as the guards hand. 

Peter released his grip and stood watching the guard clutch his severely broken hand to his chest. “I’m sorry.” He apologized before he turned and kicked the first guard in the head, watching as his body went limp. He swiped the unconscious man's keycard and used it to let himself out of the chamber. 

He was out. 

Kind of.

Peter took off running, not really sure where he was going- he should probably figure that out. Peter had never seen any windows in his time here, so logically he must be someplace underground? He should make his way upwards then. Peter looked for a staircase, noting in the back of his mind that the cameras in the hallway were slowly rebooting. It wouldn’t be long until they found him. 

He threw open any and every door that didn’t trigger his sixth sense, finding only closests, more jail cells, and finally, a stairwell. His lungs were burning from lack of cardio and an overdose of adrenaline as he took two steps at a time, listening to the sound of the storm grow louder and louder until guards began to flood the stairs, cutting off his exit from above. Peter cursed. The cameras must be functioning again.

Peter ended his ascent by throwing open a set of double doors in an attempt to escape the guards on the stairs only to come face to face with a new hallway and even more soldiers. 

Peter halted in his tracks, and the guards filed in behind him, closing him in, but not approaching. Peter put up his fists and took a fighting stance. It probably would have been smart to take one of the first two mens weapons, but Peter wasn’t interested in hurting anyone else more than he already had. He could take them all with his bare hands anyway. 

“So… who’s first?” He taunted, ready for a brawl. 

The crowd parted and none other than Thaddeus Ross stepped through. Peter felt his stance falter before he built his walls back up. He had nothing to be afraid of anymore. That’s what Peter thought anyway, until Ross pulled his hand out of his pocket and revealed a sleek black remote, identical to the one he had destroyed only minutes before. “Me.” 

“ _No-_ ” Peter reached for it but it was too late. Agony seized his entire being and he dropped to the floor, convulsing and choking, unable to breathe as his lungs clenched and his throat closed. Ross sauntered up to him, and bent down so he could stare Peter in the eyes as he turned the dial on the remote. 

Peter screamed as his back arched up off the floor and hot tears left his eyes. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before in his life, and he couldn’t escape it. 

Ross let up on the remote just to kick Peter in the stomach, stealing the empty breath in his burning lungs, and Peter coughed as he drew in much needed air. Hands were rough on his biceps as they lifted him onto his knees. Peter didn’t have the energy to fight back, or even lift his head as he cried openly. _He had been so close_. 

“Did you _really_ think there was only one remote, you stupid child?” Ross stepped forward and crouched in front of him. Peter didn’t have the guts to meet the man's eyes. “A fool's mistake. Trying to run away from the raft. From me. Bold, I’ll give you that, but extremely stupid.” Ross grabbed a fistful of Peters hair and tipped his head back, forcing him to hold his stare. “It’s people like you who make me sick.” 

He pushed Peters head back down with a noise of disgust and stood. “Take him to the sensory deprivation chamber. No food or water for 24 hours.” The guards hoisted Peter up to his feet and slung his arms over their shoulders. Peter's vision faded in and out as consciousness slowly slipped out of him. 

“Lets see him try and run away from that.” 

Peter thought of Mr. Stark as they dragged him down the hallway and he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mental health has been all over the place. Could use some encouragement if you've got any to spare.


	5. Playing on, insane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter waited, and no one came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm so grateful for the support that I'm gathering for this fic! It means the world to me xoxo
> 
> WARNINGS: for heavy topics.. Peter starts having some depressing thoughts and thoughts of death- not suicide, but death

Peter opened his eyes and met the nothingness. 

He awoke laying on his side, head resting on cold, firm metal. At first he had thought he was back in his cell, waking up from a lab session, but all that changed when he rolled onto his back and let his eyelids flutter open. 

Peter sat up with a start and felt for his face, physically pulling his eyes open to be sure that he wasn’t going crazy. Even with his enhanced senses, he couldn’t see a thing through the surrounding blackness. Had they blinded him? He wouldn’t put it past them. 

Peter slowly stood and stretched his arms out in front of his body, looking for his bed, but found nothing was directly in front of him except for a metal wall. He traced his fingers along it while he walked alongside of it, feeling the dip of the corner and another wall attached to it. This wasn’t Peters cell. 

This room was completely devoid of furniture and was much smaller than his other room. He pressed his ear to the wall and concentrated as hard as he could, straining to his full extent he could hear nothing. 

Emptiness. 

Peter pushed back from the wall, breaths beginning to come in sharp pants. Was he deaf now too? Suddenly it felt like all the air had left the room. Fear swirled in his stomach, untamed and unconsolable. Where was he?

“Hello?” Peter squeaked, timid, detering the idea that he had gone deaf. He must still be on the raft, this was just some sick form of punishment Ross had dished him. Peter would find a way out like he did before. He patted each of the walls down but grew all the more confused the longer he searched for an exit. There were no doors in the walls. “Hello?!” he tried again, louder. Not even an echo bounced back in response. 

Peter got down on his hands and knees and crawled along the floor, fingers tracing for any sign of welding or hinges. Still nothing. He found his way back to a wall and spread his fingers out against it. He was about to climb upwards to search the ceiling when an uncontrollable wave of fear had him dropping his hand as quickly as it had gone up. 

Rule #3, no displaying of powers. 

Peter couldn’t tell if there were cameras in this new prison cell, but there could be, and Peter was still shaky from his last dose of electricity. He looked down where his hands should be. He was one of Pavlov's dogs. 

Peter slid down the wall and buried his face in his hands. In the silence Ross’ words final words rang inside his mind, and Peter remembered where he was with trepidation. He wasn’t blind, or deaf… this was a sensory deprivation chamber. Peter rubbed his hands up and down his arms to generate warmth through the thin fabric of his uniform. At least he could still feel- Ross hadn’t taken that from him.

Yet. 

Peter waited, and no one came. 

The silence was slowly driving him insane, and combined with the darkness, Peter was certain he was going to lose his mind in here. He tried singing a song that his mother used to play for him when he was a small child, but it had been so long Peter had forgotten the words. It was fruitless anyway. The sound of his own voice only numbed him further. 

The hunger pains were mighty, and as time passed, they only grew stronger. Peter squirmed against the metal floor as he struggled to find a position where the sensation of his stomach shrinking was lessened.

Hours passed and still no one came. 

Peter was weak, dizzy with hunger and dehydration. He pushed himself into the corner of the room and tried to sleep, but his thoughts drifted to places darker than the chamber he was locked inside of. 

He was starved in more ways than one. 

“Peter, Peter _wake up_!” May was shaking him awake, Peter didn’t remember falling asleep. His aunt looked terrified, and Peter tried his hardest to sit up, he really did, but he lacked the energy to do so. 

“May? What’s going on?” he heard his own voice and watched May pull up a very bed-headed version of himself. Peter’s eyebrows twitched in wonder.. This had to be some out of body experience. A hallucination. 

Peter watched May drag himself out of bed, she held his bicep in a vice-like grip. “The building, it’s on fire. I don’t know why the alarm isn’t going off, but we have to get out.” 

Peter watched himself take a moment to register the situation. The hairs on his neck were raised in warning. “A fire- May, what, are you serious?” 

“Yes! Harry and Marla from upstairs are knocking on everyone's doors, now we have to hurry.” May started to tug him forward again. Peter could smell the smoke now, it clung to his bedroom ceiling with wispy tendrils, and he watched his other self take note of the scent as well. He looked down towards his Spider-Man costume dangling from his dirty laundry basket. 

Peter pushed his frantic aunt off of him, “Go. Get yourself out, I have to stay and help.” 

May glanced towards the Spider-Man outfit as well. She looked unsure and afraid, but she stepped forward and kissed Peter on the forehead before giving him a sharp “Okay,” and ran out the door with a hand over her mouth and nose. 

Peter stripped and stepped into his suit, no longer reliving his memory from his spot on the floor, but seeing things through his own eyes. Like living a dream. He was sliding his mask over his untamed curls when an explosion suddenly shook the building. Peter had only one thought on his mind. “May!” he shouted and ran out of his room. 

They collided in the open doorway to the apartment, May was doubled over gagging on smoke and Peter held her shoulders upright, pulling her back into the apartment and shutting the door to the hallway. He was lucky to have a ventilation system in his suit, but May had the short end of the stick. 

“I can’t- the stairwell,” May choked as she caught her breath, “Peter there’s gasoline on the stairwell.” Peter could barely see her through the smoke filling their living room. He had to get her out of there. 

Quick on his feet, Peter scooped her into his arms and ran for the kitchen window. It was closed and Peter jumped through the glass back first to protect May from any loose shards. Free-falling, Peter freed his hand from under Mays knees and thwipped a web. It attached itself to the side of the apartment building and Peter swung them to safety, landing right in front of the arriving fire fighters. 

“Spider-Man!” The people who managed to get out of the building cheered at the sight of the vigilante, and a murmur spread across the crowd. 

Peter lowered May to the ground. She was still coughing, but breathing easier in the fresh air. “You okay?” Peter asked softly as the people swarmed closer to the pair. 

May just waved him off as she coughed into her elbow. “Go get ‘em tiger,” She said with a wink. 

Peter stepped back with a mock salute before sending out another web and pulling himself back into the building, entering feet first through another window on the top floor, where the fire was the worst. 

“Anybody in here?!” He shouted as he ran through the halls, nearly blind due to the funnels of smoke billowing in every direction. The heat was atrocious, he felt like his suit might melt into his skin. “Karen, anybody up here?” 

The AI did a perimeter sweep. “Below you, to the left.” 

Peter followed her instructions and found a young man choking on smoke and clinging to the body of another young man. He straightened at the sight of Spider-Man. “Please, my boyfriend…” 

Peter slung the unconscious man onto his shoulder and turned, thankful that they had a fire escape outside of their window. “Follow me.” Peter said, leading the way out. When he was close enough to the ground outside, he hopped over the railing and dropped the last few flights of stairs, passing the man to the nearby paramedics who had just arrived on scene. Peter glanced up as the other man finished descending the stairs. 

“Thank you, _Thank you, Spider-Man._ ” He cried and coughed simultaneously. 

Peter was about to enter when another explosion went off, this time crippling the top floors, causing the building to cave in from the top. Peter had to hurry before it completely collapsed in on itself. 

He reentered the apartment building as swiftly as possible. By the amount of people there had been outside, Peter guessed that mostly everyone had gotten out on their own or with the help of the fire fighters. 

“Help me!” a woman screamed and Peter took off running towards the sound, kicking down the apartment door to the location of the cry. The fire and smoke wasn’t nearly as bad here, but the people trapped inside were still in danger of the collapsing building. 

A woman with hair as red as the flames around them screamed at Peters entrance but calmed slightly at the realisation of the much needed help. “Spider-Man!” She ran forward and grabbed Peter's arm. “Please, my baby- she accidentally locked herself inside!” she yelled, as she dragged him in front of a closet door. 

The room was rapidly filling with smoke now that the apartment door was open, and Peter took note of her harsh coughs. There was also another sound that was missing. Peter didn’t have the gall to tell this woman that there was no heartbeat coming from the other side of the closet door. The child must’ve asphyxiated. 

“Okay ma’am calm down.” Peter placed his hand on the knob, testing for heat. “Get yourself out, I’ll save your child.” 

The woman wouldn’t leave. “Please, _please_ , my baby…” She moaned and Peter took a deep breath. He didn’t want her to have to see this, but it was the only way to make her leave.

Peter tore open the door and came face to face with the blank stare of a corpse. The body of the teen wore blue lips… and a bullet hole in his forehead. Peter gasped and stepped back in shock at the image of a boy, no older than himself with curly brown hair and muscle toned skin. Dead as a doornail. 

“M- Ma’am, what-” Peter had started to say when a sudden high-pitched ringing met his ears and his body went totally limp against his will. Peter's body flopped onto his back, completely paralyzed, leaving the boy scared, and confused as hell. He tried to speak, but found that he couldn’t. 

Something warm and wet leaked from his ears. 

“Peter, you seem to be in a state of distress, shall I inform Mr. Stark?” Karen asked Peter politely, and Peter tried his hardest to move his lips. It was futile. 

The woman stood over top of him with a smirk on her face. She held up a small piece of tech, USB key shaped with a red ring in the end. “I wasn’t sure if this would work, but…” She shrugged, “Well, here we are.” 

“Your heart rate has increased to dangerous levels. Dialing Tony Star-” The woman reached down and pulled off his mask, disabling Karen for the time being. Peter tried to shout, roll over, do _anything_ as the woman pressed the spider-emblem on his suit and began sliding it off of his limbs. 

He was completely and utterly helpless. 

Peter watched with terrified eyes as the woman slid his mask and suit over the dead boys face and body. She then fastened another piece of tech on the teens face, directly in between the lenses on the Spider-Man suit. An explosive.

Peter had never been so afraid in his life and he tried to scream as the woman tied a T-shirt over his head and began dragging him out of the apartment. 

Cool air met his exposed skin and Peter never stopped trying to move, his spider senses were dialed to 11 even out of the fire. He could hear people bustling all around him now, and he wondered if May was around to recognize him. 

“Please help me! The woman carrying him screamed again, her voice high and shrill against Peters delicate ears. “My son, he was trapped in the smoke! Someone please help us!” She coughed and people began gathering around them.

“We can take him over here!” A man shouted in response. “Out of the way, medics here!” Peter felt more hands on him, lifting him up and strapping him to a gurney, rolling him away. Someone removed the T-shirt from his head only to secure an oxygen mask over his face. Peter's eyes flicked around wildly, trying to capture the hectic scene around him. News helicopters were on the scene and in the sky… something red and gold. May was nowhere in sight. 

They loaded him into the back of an ambulance, with the woman following directly behind them, screaming and sobbing about her ‘precious baby’. 

As the ambulance closed its rear doors the building exploded in a magnificent flash of flame and fire. His home… Peter felt tears well up in his eyes, anyone trapped inside couldn't have survived that- and even if they had managed to, they would now be crushed under the rubble.

“Okay we need DNA samples stat!” One of the paramedics shouted over top of the commotion of people screaming outdoors and the ambulance engine starting up. 

“I’ve got blood!”

“I’ll do tissue.” 

The workers around him called dibs and Peter felt a flash of anger, his fingers twitching in response. Who were these people? They knew who he was… they were kidnapping him. 

Peter closed his eyes at the sight of the evil paramedic approaching him with a needle. He needed to concentrate. Peter willed his muscles to move again. 

He took a breath and yanked his arm free of the restraints, grabbing the needle from their hand and snapping it in two. He fumbled against the straps against him, he had to get out before they could incapacitate him again.

But he was too late. 

The result of the injection only left him feeling nauseous and sluggish, and he continued struggling against the people fighting to push him back down. 

“I don’t understand, he should be unconscious!”

The woman who had taken Peter in the first place stood from her seat in the corner of the ambulance. “Let me try,” was all she said before she picked up the oxygen canister by Peters bed and brought it down on Peter's head. 

Peter gasped as the memory abruptly ended and he was back in his present mind and body. “Was that…” Peter whispered, “was that what happened to me?” A head injury could have resulted in memory loss.

That woman. He had been trying to help her, but she was on a mission of her own. Now Peter was trapped here. 

Peter curled into a tighter ball and ran his fingers through his hair like Mr. Stark used to do. A sob caught in his throat as something shattered in his chest. This wasn’t the life he wanted to lead. He had wanted to go to college, meet the person of his dreams, join the avengers officially. He was doomed to live out his life here instead. 

He would rather that Ross just killed him already. 

Peter cried harder than he had ever cried before. He wept without restriction, tears pooling under his cheek and dampening his hair. He sobbed for himself and the dark place he was in, the hole that he had fallen into and could never escape from. He cried for Mr. Stark and May, for they had lost a son, he cried for MJ and Ned, for they had lost a friend. He cried for himself for he was losing himself. 

He mourned for the boy that was left to burn in his place. Peter should’ve died in that fire. Things would be better for him then. 

This was a new type of sadness that Peter welcomed with open arms. It whispered things into his ear that Peter found himself agreeing with. He was a worthless creature of darkness, and he was better off dead. 

When the hatch in the ceiling opened up, Peter was too weak to fight back. 

The guards lowered a ladder down the hole and he was lifted onto someone's back as they climbed towards the light. It stung his eyes, and Peter shied away from it. When they reached the top, the door was closed and Peter was thrown unceremoniously to the floor. 

Peter lifted himself onto his elbows with trembling limbs, and he inhaled the new air. It wasn’t fresh but it wasn’t stale either. 

“How do you feel, insect? Learned your lesson?” Peter flinched away at the sound of Ross’s words. For a moment Peter thought he heard Tony's voice in his place. 

Peter couldn’t find it in himself to speak and Ross crouched in front of him, grabbing Peters chin with his fingers forcing Peters red-rimmed eyes to face the artificial light. “Tears? How pathetic.” Peter found himself leaning into the warmth Ross's hand provided. It had been so long since someone had touched him. Ross pulled away with a sneer when he realized what Peter was doing. The man stood, wiping his hand off on his slacks as he went. 

“Well boys, I think we’ve made a breakthrough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter of Peters POV before we give Tony his time to shine!   
> I hope you're enjoying! let me know if you are, there's no need to be shy!


	6. In the January rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he succeeded? Freedom was his reward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! sorry this chapter was slower than usual coming out, I meant to have it up days ago but had the WORST case of writers block thwarting my every move. 
> 
> WARNING!!! for self harm/mutilation this is a biggie for me and if you're sensitive I would strongly advise that you skip this chapter or at least the section where Peter is taken to the shower room. I want everyone to stay safe!

Peter learned to listen to the rules, and he learned to obey them. 

Time melded into one long monotonous blur and Peter lost the ability to keep track of its passage. The lights went out, then the lights came back on. Food came and went, Peter came and went, and the days piled on top of each other. Every time the lights changed Peter felt all the more unfocused, withdrawing into himself, putting on a new facade, a new persona, and becoming an empty husk of the person he once was. 

He stopped talking altogether. Talking back got him electrocuted (no one bothered to listen in the first place), and he had been told once that talking aloud to oneself was a sign of insanity. So Peter kept his thoughts to himself. It seemed that his one safe space, his only place of pure privacy was on the inside of his closed eyelids. Peter savoured his thoughts. It was only a matter of time before Ross and his men would find a way to get inside his brain and take that away from him too.

He would often host imaginary conversations with his friends and family inside his head. It had been fun at first, until it became increasingly difficult to remember how they had sounded or even what they had truly looked like. Sometimes he would pull out his drawings and gaze at them for hours, straining his mind in a futile attempt to picture them more clearly.

But they were just drawings. 

After a while, Peter couldn’t bear to look at them anymore. They were drawings of the people who had abandoned him, people who had left him behind. They weren’t looking for him, and they were probably over his ‘death’ by now. 

Mr. Stark had probably found a new kid to mentor, someone better than Peter ever was, and May… May was only related to Peter through government documents. She was probably out celebrating with friends, happy to finally be rid of the burden that was Peter Parker. He wondered if she could finally afford that fancy new kitchen set with the money that was constantly thrown away on extra food to satisfy Peter metabolism. _Probably_ , Peter thought.

The paper tore easily in his frustrated hands, and hot tears spilled from his eyes, blistering against his ice cold skin. 

And what about Ned, or Michelle? They had each other to fall back on. They didn’t need him, and probably liked it better without him there. 

Peter was quaking with poorly restrained emotion, and in a fit of anger he leapt from his bed and hurled the stool as hard as he could at the cell door. The glass cracked, breaking where the object had ricocheted and he was electrocuted until he passed out from oxygen deprivation and pain.

He may have conformed to Ross’ ruleset, but still, the overwhelming desire to _escapeescapeescape_ would swell in his brain in the dead of night and would sit quietly in the back of his mind whenever the guards came to take him out of his cell. It became his sole purpose of existence- to find a new way to escape. 

His last attempt had been unplanned and purely coincidental. He couldn’t wait for another opportunity like that to present itself- the likelihood of it even happening in the first place was slim to none, and now that they had time to fix the error? The odds were not in his favour. He had gotten lucky, and he had wasted the opportunity running blindly through the corridors. 

But now he knew where to run. The only problem was the chip in his neck. 

He was going to have to take it out himself, and the only safe place to do that was in the washroom, out of view from prying eyes and camera feeds. 

Peter threw his head back against the wall with enough force to rattle his brain. There was another problem. He didn’t have access to anything sharp enough to cut his skin. He pounded his head into the wall again and again in furosity at his incompetence until a jolt in his neck warned him to stop. 

Peter pouted and felt the bruise forming under his hair with his fingertips. Sleep would put him out of his misery for a time, but it seemed that his forcefulness counted as a displation of power. He collapsed onto his bed and screamed into the pillow to muffle the sound. He was angry and exhausted from that day's lab experiments and had nothing to vent his emotions on but himself. It had been a while since they had given him new sheets of paper to write on and his pencil had long since been a stub. 

Peter rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. How could he get his hands on something sharp? There was no mirror in the washroom for him to break, and the only utensils they gave him at mealtimes were plastic sporks. 

Peter held his breath for as long as he could, thinking and scheming until his body betrayed him and he opened his mouth for air. He hoisted himself up onto his elbows and blew some unrestrained curls out of his face (his hair had grown out to the point where it curled inward at the nape of his neck and he could tuck loose strands behind his ears). He remembered his first time in the shower room. There were some screws in there that he could try and get loose, but would they be sharp enough? 

Peter figured it was worth a shot. 

Step two would be: take down the guards. Once the tech was out of his neck they had nothing on him but the electric batons. If he caught them by surprise, Peter could have them down for the count before they could even go for their weapons. Then he could make a break for it. The cameras in the hallway would be fully functioning and Peter would have to pull all his tricks out if he was going to get through the armed personnel that would surely come for him as he made his way to the top of the building. 

If he succeeded? Freedom was his reward. 

If he failed? Hopefully they would do him a favour and just kill him. 

Peter was as compliant as ever when the guards came to take him to the washroom next. He was on his knees before they even ordered him to and didn’t protest when they cuffed him and placed the bag over his head. His heart thundered in his chest as they marched him to the familiar room and Peter worried that they could hear it would start to suspect something was up. 

He made it to the shower room unhindered, albeit sweatier than usual, and set to work as soon as the guards locked the door from the outside. He went straight to the shower, climbing up the wall to get a good look at the screws in the panel. Peter slid his thumb nail into the slit in the head of the screw and turned. His nail bent in an unnatural direction and the screw stayed firm. It was in tight.

Peter pounded his fist into the wall. “Shit.” he muttered under his breath, as he scanned the inside of the room. His eyes landed on the toilet and he unstuck himself from the wall, stepping over to examine it closer. There was no lid on the back of it and Peter began dissecting its innards with shaking hands. He only had five minutes to get this done, and the countdown had already begun. 

Peter had only fixed a toilet a handful of times, but he knew that there should be a chain somewhere inside. Peter didn't hesitate to plunge his hands into the murky water once he caught sight of a silver gleam and he snapped it off at its source, removing it from the back of the toilet. At the end of the chain was a small metal ring, thin but sturdy. Perfect.

Peter restuck himself to the wall by the shower panel and inserted his makeshift screwdriver into the screwhead, twisting, and twisting, and twisting, and _twisting_ , until the pointed screw popped out into his open palm. Peter felt hope spark in his chest for the first time in ages. 

Peter felt his neck for the lump under his skin that signified where the chip was implanted. He kept a finger on top of it while he placed the end of the screw slightly farther above it. Peter held his breath as he dragged it downwards. His skin split under the metal, but not enough to remove the chip, not even enough to draw blood. 

Peter felt his flesh begin to swell under the scratch. This was going to be harder than he thought. 

So Peter pressed harder and dragged the screw downwards yet again. This time he felt his skin rip open, but it still wasn’t deep enough. The screw wasn’t sharp enough. Peter felt his chest tighten as he began to hyperventilate. It wasn’t working, he was going to get caught- 

Peter pressed even harder and scratched again. The pain was sharp and tears sprung to his eyes. He couldn't mess this up. He scratched again, and again, rubbing the back of his neck with the screw vigorously and violently as panic and adrenaline flooded his veins. Blood bubbled under his fingers and ran freely down the back of his neck, coating his fingers and causing the screw to slip out of his grip multiple times. 

A guard pounded on the door. “One minute!” 

Peter's eyes went wide. He was scared and dizzy with pain, the back of his uniform was stained red with blood and he still wasn’t deep enough to remove the chip. 

But he was close, and failure wasn’t an option. 

Through the pain and blood, Peter finally felt the skin closest to the chip tear and he jabbed his fingers into the open wound, fishing around for the tiny piece of technology that evaded his every move due to the blood on his fingers. The desperation was overwhelming and Peter used his powers to rip the wound open further, before diving his fingers back inside. 

He pulled the little devil out of his neck just as the door was unlocked. 

The guards stepped into the room and froze momentarily at the sight of their prisoner standing in the shower stall covered in his own blood. Peter's plan was to take them by surprise, but it had taken longer than he had expected to take the chip out of his neck. 

They overcame their temporary stun and one of the guards removed the remote from their belt as the other gripped their baton. When nothing happened to Peter as the first guard pressed the button on the remote, the second stepped forward weapon at the ready. 

Peter quickly realised that he had nothing to defend himself with except his fists, and in a two on one scrap, he was at a hard disadvantage. He was cornered and defenseless. In a hasty decision Peter spotted the showerhead to his right, grabbed a hold of it, and tore it out of the wall, bringing a section of the water pipe with it and severing it with pure force. 

Water immediately shot from the broken pipe system, and the cold liquid, wild and untamed sprayed everywhere. 

Peter held up the pipe just as the first guard came at him with the baton, blocking the blow easily and swerving the weapon away from him. Peter kicked the guard off of him as the other stepped forward and Peter dropped low to kick out his legs. The man toppled to his side, and his head whacked off of the sink, shattering the porcelain and sending shards to the wet ground with him. 

One down, one to go. 

Peter caught the man's fist as he made to bludgeon Peter on the head with his baton. His bloody fingers loosened their grip on the guards wrist as Peter swung the pipe at the man's unguarded knees. They jutted to the side with a sickening _crack_ and the man screamed in pain as he dropped his weapon. 

Peter felt no remorse as he slammed the guards helmet covered head into the cement wall and he collapsed to the ground in a heap. 

He stepped away from the body only to meet pain exploding in the small of his back. Peter cried out as he was roughly shoved against the wall and the first guard stepped up behind him, placing a cuff on Peter's free hand and reaching for the other with the pipe. His back muscles spasmed and twitched in uncontrollable pain and Peter felt something inside of him snap.

He was _not_ going back to that cell.

Peter bared his teeth as a growl built up deep in his chest and he twisted out of the guards grip only to throw him into the opposite wall. The man bounced off the surface and came to rest on his back, stirring slightly. His weapon clattered just out of his reach and he began to crawl towards it, sloshing through the water that was piling up on the floor. 

Peter stepped over and picked it up. He took a moment to examine it before he snapped it in half as the guard watched with poorly masked fear. His helmet was gone and Peter's feral gaze met the deep brown eyes of the man underneath him. A man that had hurt him and others like him. A man who enjoyed what he did, and did what he did without consequence. 

Peter's hands wrapped firmly around the end of the pipe as he lifted it over his head, only to bring it down on the man's unprotected face.

Blood and brain matter splattered across his face and uniform and he felt nothing.

Suddenly the lights changed to flashing red, casting a darker crimson stain on the entire room than the blood on the floor, and an alarm began to sound. Peter held his pipe against his chest as he stepped over the dead body on the floor, making his way out of the washroom. 

His mind lagged as the past few minutes caught up with him and we walked through the hall with a metaphorical hole in his chest. He had just done the one thing that he had vowed never to do as a superhero. He had killed a man. 

Sounds of multiple pairs of feet heading in his direction slowly tugged his thoughts in a different direction. He still needed to escape. What was step two again? 

Step two was to run. 

Peter picked up his pace, recognizing his surroundings from his last escape attempt and quickly found the stairwell that he had used the last time. They were waiting for him there, all armed with their batons, but Peter was ready for them. 

He took them as they came, blocking and kicking and swinging his bloodied shower head pipe. He doesn’t hold back and he doesn’t pull his punches. Peter no longer cared how badly he hurt them, and he no longer cared if he killed. _He wanted out_ , and that was all that mattered. 

After he was clear of the first wave of soldiers he began sprinting up the stairs, never once letting go of the pipe in his filthy hands. It made the attacking easier and the guilt of hurting all these men less heavy, when it was the pipe doing the damage and not his bare hands. 

The sound of the gunshot came first, and the searing pain in his calf came second. Peter faltered for a moment and gripped at his injured leg, sparing a quick glance as he continued running up the stairs. It was just a graze but it hurt like hell. More gunshots followed and Peter dodged like his life depended on it (because it did). 

He made it to the top and burst into the new hallway. The sound of thunder was nearly deafening on Peters enhanced ears, and the scent of salt water was atrocious. The new sensory inputs were almost distracting as he continued to take down the guards that blocked his path, and he left a trail of bodies in his wake. 

At the end of the hallway was a set of double doors, orange light filtering through from the other side. Peter threw them open and limped inside, pipe at the ready. 

_Ross_. 

A row of monitors were lined in between Peter and a glass wall similar to his cell door, outside it was a helicopter pad and a large metal overhang, protecting it from the raging weather outside. People were hiding under their computer desks at the sight of their loose prisoner and Ross stood in the middle of the room with his hands in the air, looking shocked and disappointed simultaneously. To his far left was a large metal door with the words “To Roof” painted on it. 

Peter kept his pipe poised in front of him, and his back to the wall as he side stepped to the door. There was a small but fancy looking lock tethered to his exit. Peter didn’t have the time to figure it out on his own. Something shifted behind him and he spun, ready to attack. Ross had stepped closer to Peter.

“Open the door.” Peter growled and Ross smirked.

“I can’t. It can only be done from the control circuit here.” Ross stepped even closer and Peter raised his weapon higher.

“Then tell them to open the door.” He nodded towards the people cowering behind each other, dressed in suits and hair done up all nice. Ten thousand emotions were running rampant through Peter's body, yet his voice sounded emotionless to his own ears. Steady, and calm. It was eerie. 

“Peter, what are you trying to accomplish?” Ross tried to change the subject, but Peter wasn’t having it.

“Tell them to open the doors.” Peter ordered again, voice beginning to tremble minutely.

Ross’ hands were lowering slowly. “Or what?” 

“You’ve seen what I’ve done.” 

“I didn’t think Spider-Man was a killer.” 

Peter felt his calm resolve crack and splinter. “Spider-Man is dead!” he shouted before seething, “ _you killed him_ ”. 

Ross appeared to be stunned into silence, but Peter wanted results. 

“Now open the _goddamn door!_ ” Peter all but screamed and he stepped towards Ross threateningly. The older man kept his feet glued to the floor and Peter roughly placed the sharp end of the pipe under his chin, tipping his head towards the fluorescent lights. His adams apple bobbed against the severed metal as he swallowed and he glared at Peter with calculating eyes.

“Open it.” Ross spoke at last, and Peter felt his breath hitch in surprise.

“Sir?” One of the technicians popped their head up from behind their desk. 

“You heard what he said. Open the door.” Ross snapped at his employee and they eyed Peter warily before doing as they were told. 

The door behind Peter cracked open with hiss and immediately the scent of salt water assaulted his senses. Peter shoved his face into the crook of his elbow and wasted no time in turning and sprinting for freedom. The pipe stayed in his grasp as he ran up the grated metal ramp and onto the roof of the building, he was ready to feel the kiss of sunlight on his skin and the soft touch of a breeze tousle his hair. 

What he saw made him stop in his tracks.

Cold water came down in fat pellets, stinging his exposed skin and mingling with the drying blood on his body. He was standing on top of an enormous metal building, and all around him was… water. Mighty waves crashed against the side of the prison and splattered against the top of it, pushing Peter off of his balance momentarily. It wasn’t thunder he had been listening to- it was water. 

He was in the middle of the fucking ocean. 

The pipe clattered to his side as he dropped to his knees. This was his worst nightmare… to come so far only to be thwarted by something so unpredictable. Peter felt like he was suffocating and his chest burned, as he gasped in air. His hair quickly became plastered to his head and Peter cried fruitless tears. Everything he had just done, all the people he had just killed-

It had been for nothing. 

“Peter!” Someone shouted overtop of the booming noise of the wind and rain. Peter turned to see Ross trudging towards him, soaked to the bone. “Now do you see? How idiotic you are? How many times have I told you, you can’t run away from the raft.” 

Peter stood on wobbly knees, picking his beloved pipe back up as he went. Ross was right about Peter being an idiot. He felt it simmer in his very core- self hatred.

“Now you have two options. You come back to your cell the easy way, or you go back to your cell the hard way.” 

Peters heart stuttered. He wasn’t going back there, he _couldn’t_ go back in there. That place was hell, it was pure misery and damnation. Peter would rather die.

Peter looked down at the pipe in his hand. 

The third option.

“No.” Peter steeled himself, and thrust the pipe into his own stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its not a prison fic if someone doesn't get shivved amiright?  
> Next chapter is the beginning of Tonys POV so stay tuned!
> 
> leave me a comment!


	7. We overcome the sirens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And oh, that night, that horrendous night, clung to him like a parasite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back! IT ME BITCHES  
> sorry for taking so long with this update, for whatever reason it was really hard for me to get through and it ttok me a while to come up with something that was worthy of being posted. Thank you to my handy-dandy editors on tumblr @clover-roseee and @thespydersargon ! this chapter would be up a lot later if it wasn't for them. This is also by far the longest chapter yet, so I hope that makes up for my inactivity. 
> 
> WARNINGS: description of dead bodies and a brief autopsy scene

Spider Man died eight months ago, dragging the innocent Peter Parker to the grave with him, and Tony Stark would never fully recover from it. He was damaged, irreparably so, torn and captive of the deepest stages of mourning. He had been for months. 

They said these things behind his back, of course. Cowardice shepherded them behind locked doors and phone screens, but Tony knew what they said about him. He had eyes and ears everywhere in the compound. 

Even without the assistance of FRIDAY, it didn’t take a genius to figure out how people thought about him. The way Pepper looked at him, the cautiousness carving lines in her fine skin as she observed him, hands warm against his hollow bones. The way the team smiled at him when they ran into him in the hallways, smiles not quite reaching their eyes and always, _always_ asking if he was okay. They stopped asking him to accompany them on missions (the answer was always no), and only sought him out when they were in desperate need of tech repair- Pepper forcing him to comply with their requests. 

Tony almost never left the penthouse (only doing so for repairs), and he most certainly never left the compound. He never spoke with anyone besides FRIDAY, Pepper, Rhodey, Happy and the occasional avenger who came to visit him. He hadn’t worn the Iron Man suit since that fateful night, and didn’t plan on ever wearing the blood-stained armour ever again. So it sat abandoned in the lab which he avoided at all costs, collecting dust beside Peters old things. 

And oh, that night, that horrendous night, clung to him like a parasite. The scent of melting flesh and bone, blood dripping and sizzling against the heat of the flame, boiling over and leaking, dripping, pouring everywhere as he screamed himself hoarse and held the mangled chunks of the headless corpse of the boy he had come to love as a son. 

Peter.

Tony crawled out of bed only to shut the blackout curtains that Pepper had annoyingly opened since leaving for work. She had been reading tips online, since Tony had been refusing to attend the therapy sessions she scheduled for him, and found that sunlight helps combat depression. The woman now opened any window she could and constantly encouraged Tony to go outside. He didn’t, but it was the thought that counted. 

It was eleven o’clock in the morning when he shuffled out of his bedroom, hesitantly peeking around the corner and tiptoeing into the kitchen in case Steve or Nat were there to ambush him. It was easier to get out of bed these days, but it was still a struggle and a half. Things only got worse when there was another human around to give him a warm expression and half-assed hug. 

He didn’t want that. Their pity. Their sympathy. He just wanted to be alone. He was a sheet of glass, shattered and broken, haphazardly stacked and reshaped into the man he once was, barely walking, barely blinking, halfway dead and yet cursed to keep living. Like a zombie, unable to join in with those who flourished in the circle of life. 

The others danced around him tentatively, afraid that he might lash out or break into fragments too fine to tape back together. If they placed a hand on him they would be cut, and if they stepped too close they would bleed. 

Bleed like Peter did. 

Tony rubbed at his eyes as he made himself a mug of the lukewarm coffee that Pepper had made and left out for him hours ago. The flavour helped perk up his stale mind and bring him some semblance of the energy and motivation that he lacked in every aspect of his life these days. The one thing that made him feel normal again. 

As if life could ever be normal without his kid by his side. 

Tony swallowed the last drops of his beverage and set the empty mug inside the empty sink and emptily set to work on repairing Natashas busted widow bites. He settled at the workbench that he had stationed in the guest bedroom of the penthouse and hunched over the pair of weaponized bracelets. Apparently there was a noticeable delay in the fire rate, and good old agent Romanoff only trusted Tony Stark to fix her tech. 

_Lies_. Lies used to get him out of bed and working, using his brain, keeping him from fading away. Tony saw straight through the ruse and hated how it actually worked in making him feel better. He shouldn’t get to feel happy or content, because it was his fault.

His fault Peter was dead.

Tony had been working for well over an hour when FRIDAY interrupted him. “Sir, there is a woman here to see you.”

“Is there now…” Tony swiped his glasses off his face only to scratch at an itch forming on his eyebrow. “Tell her I’m not home. And tell Pep to stop sending those damn therapists. I’m not going to talk to them.” He stared down at the weapons in his hands. He had finished the real work barely ten minutes into the project and yet here he was going the extra mile to upgrade them further. He wondered what Nat’s opinion would be on nanotech- an idea he had been experimenting with before… Before Peter had passed away. 

“Sir, I believe this woman came on her own.” 

Tony rolled his eyes and pushed away from the table. “Sweetheart, you know I couldn’t care less.” He stood, twisting and stretching until his bones popped in all the right places. 

“She says her topic is of the utmost importance.” 

Tony sighed before snapping. “I’m sure it can wait.” The woman at the door was of no interest to him. He could hardly be bothered to converse with his friends, let alone a stranger. It was probably a reporter who had somehow managed to gain compound clearance anyways. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened.

“She says it’s a matter regarding Peter Parker.” 

Tony froze at the name, fingers going numb and falling to his side. He hid the hitch of his breath behind a loud clearing of his throat, and took a moment to recollect himself. That name was rarely spoken near him, forbidden to his ears. 

He took a seat on a nearby stool, knees suddenly weak. “Show me.”

FRIDAY brought up a hologram highlighted in blue, projecting the live feed of a woman standing impatiently in the front foyer of the compound. Tony folded his arms across his chest as he observed her features. She had flaming red hair and looked to be in her mid thirties. Tony didn’t recognize her at all.

“Who is she?” Tony sighed as he watched her wander aimlessly. “Gimme a facial recognition scan.”

FRIDAY did as she was told, bringing up a second hologram beside the first, revealing a full head shot of the unknown woman. “Data banks show the woman to be one Sidney Banks, an ex SHIELD agent, code name Fireside, age thirty-three-”

“Ex SHIELD agent? Why’d she leave the service?” Tony tilted his head as he speculated. Banks continued to wander, taking in her surroundings as she waited patiently.

“She was fired from the division after being found to be an unreliable source. Caught guilty with arson, treason and overall ruled mentally unstable and unfit for work.” 

Tony clicked his tongue and used his toes to spin him around in an idle circle. “Arson, eh? Any chance you know why she’s interested in Pete-” Tony cut himself off, biting his tongue. The name felt wrong in his mouth, the bitter after taste of the happiness he used to feel when saying it. Now it left him empty inside. 

“Perhaps you should ask her, sir.” 

“Yeah…” He whispered, letting his eyes close for a moment. He only hoped that she wasn’t here because of Spider-Man. Tony had put too much work into keeping Peter's identity a secret even until the grave only to have it blown over now by some ex agent. “You can tell her… I’m on my way down.” 

Dressed in a hoodie and loose jeans, Tony quickly combed his fingers through his hair to make himself look more put together. This was his first time meeting with a member of the general public since Spider-Man's funeral, and he didn’t want to live up to the hype of the tabloids published about him. 

He honestly didn’t know why he was going to meet with this woman- Banks, was it? Perhaps it was her profile, or maybe it was because this was the first time someone had shown up to the compound asking about Peter Parker instead of Spider-Man. Tony didn’t know.

The elevator ride was as smooth as always but his sneakers felt obnoxiously loud on the linoleum floor as he walked towards the front foyer. He could see her in the distance, her back towards him, flaming locks cascading downwards... if he turned away now she might not even notice that he had been there at all.

“Mr. Stark?” Too late. 

Tony forced a tight smile and extended a hand in greetings as he approached her. “That’s me.” She took his hand with a firm grip, meeting his eyes as she smiled in return- the expression looking just as forgein as it felt on Tony's face. They were both in an uncomfortable situation.

“I trust that AI of yours told you what I’m here for?” 

He broke the handshake, stuffing his hands into his front pockets, glad that she had decided to skip the formalities and dive straight into business. “More like who you’re here to talk about.” Tony watched as her smile faded into a smirk and she tipped her head in a slight nod. “Walk with me.” He gestured towards the way he came from, towards the living quarters where there would hopefully be a more secluded area for them to speak in. 

She trailed behind him in awkward silence until they reached the (thankfully) empty kitchen. “Coffee?” Tony offered and she nodded again, taking a seat on one of the island stools while he set to work. 

“I understand you were close to him,” she quipped, causing Tony to pause briefly while he poured them each a mug of the boiling liquid. The scent of freshly brewed coffee awakening him all the more.

“You could say that,” he muttered, eyes downcast. If this was all she had to talk about… “What else do you know, Ms. Banks?” He slid her the mug from the opposite side of the island, and she caught it in her awaiting hands.

“A lot more than you could imagine.” Tony quirked an eyebrow as he finally met her gaze. “For one, I know Mr. Parker was quite the fan of insects… Spiders to be exact.” 

Tony set his mug down with a sigh. So she knew about Spider-Man, _great_. “Look if you’re here to threaten the intricacies of the whole secret identity thing-”

She held up a finger to shush him. “Ah, but there’s more.” Tony was taken aback, his mouth hanging open slightly as she continued on. “There are things even you don’t know.”

Tony frowned. “Like what?”

“Let me think…” Banks suddenly smiled, wide and mischievous. “What about the fact that he’s not dead?” 

And there it was, the untrustworthiness and the instability that was in her file. Tony laughed, like it was a joke, because it was. It was a known fact that Peter was dead, and Tony knew it better than most. 

He was wiping tears from his eyes when she got out of her seat and stepped towards him, her smile now completely gone. “He’s alive Stark- at least last I heard he was.” Tony flashed her his award winning grin as he nodded. This woman was fucking crazy. “Peter Parker didn’t die in that fire.” 

Tony rolled his eyes as the giggling fit subsided. “I think it’s time for you to go home.”

Banks was flushed with anger. “You don’t believe me.”

“Of course I don’t, you’re full of bullshit!” He turned and dumped his coffee down the sink, having suddenly lost his desire to drink it. The conversation was old and this woman was insane. 

He heard her step even closer to him while his back was turned. “ _Peter Parker didn’t die in that fire_ ,” she repeated and something inside Tony snapped. 

Tony whipped around and pulled himself to his full height, towering over her threateningly. “Don’t you tell me what happened that night.” He seethed, stalking towards her with fury in his bones, forcing her backwards and pressing her back up against the kitchen island. “I was there. I watched it happen. I held his broken body in my arms-” 

Out of nowhere Banks was sliding out of his grasp, maneuvering behind him and twisting his arm behind his back, pushing his hips into the countertop with expert precision. “I was there too, Stark. _I started the fire_. I dragged him from the building and left another to burn in his place…” 

“Tony?” 

Banks immediately released her hold on him and they both turned to face the confused expression of Colonel James Rhodes. Tony shared a glance with the woman as he straightened his hoodie.

“I... had an appointment.” Tony lied out of his ass as Banks began collecting her things. Rhodey nodded slowly, obviously still confused. 

The red head returned to his side after a moment and flicked out a small card with a phone number scribbled on it. “Since you think I’m crazy, check your records then run the tests yourself. You should find some compelling evidence.” Tony took the card from her with hesitant fingers. “When you’re ready, give me a call.” 

His mind was reeling under the influence of her words, and he couldn’t even bring himself to mutter a goodbye as she stormed out of the building, heels clicking with haste as she made her escape from his presence. 

_What the hell just happened?_

He stared down at his hands where the card with her number rested. She had seemed so certain that what she was saying was true, but whether it had actually happened or it was her own truth, was yet to be decided. 

Tony rolled his eyes lazily. Who was he kidding? The kid was dead and that was that…. But still, he couldn’t deny that a long forgotten sensation was building in the pits of his mind. 

Hope.

He slid the note into his sweater pocket and rubbed at his chest as it began to burn uncomfortably. Rhodey changed his stance, drawing Tony's attention to his old friend and he dropped his hand at once. He could see the words forming on Rhodey's tongue and Tony couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t break down if he had the chance to speak first. 

_Are you okay?_

“What are you doing here, platypus? God, you’re like a shadow.” He tried to smile as he spoke but it felt jagged and wrong. 

Rhodey wandered closer. “I came to check on you, make sure you were up. FRIDAY said you were down here.” 

“Ah, I see…” he gazed towards the ceiling imagining his AI watching over him like an angel from the heavens. “How much of that did you hear?”

Rhodey held his hands up in a form of surrender. “Nothing, I swear. Just walked in on her pinning you… are you okay? Should I call compound security- set Steve on her like an angry watchdog?” he chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood. 

“No, it’s okay,” Tony grunted, biting his lip. Banks’ words were ringing in his mind… _”I started the fire”_... if she had done that then what was the reason for it- other than to take out Spider-Man, that was. 

The whirlwind of thoughts in Tony's brain abruptly came to a screeching halt. Even if there was a reason, what was the point of looking into it? Peter was still… gone.

Unless she was telling the truth.

“What are you thinking about?” Tony stayed silent, fingering the card in his pocket anxiously. Rhodey stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Is it the kid?” 

Tony sighed and his eyes felt hot, Peter was almost always on his mind. He rarely cried these days, though the hurt was still just as strong. After a moment Tony felt composed enough to nod, still silent, and Rhodey settled a hand on his shoulder, grounding and firm. 

“Okay, it’s okay Tones.”

Tony sucked in a deep breath and placed his palm on top of his best friends, squeezing it tightly. “Yeah,” he muttered as he made up his mind. There was only one way to be certain of Banks’ story. “I’ve got some tests to run.” 

The first test he conducted was to check to see if Banks had really been at the apartment building that night. He scoured over the footage from CNN, heart aching as he watched Peter swing in and out of the building in a valiant effort to save as many people as he could. _Too bad he couldn’t save himself_ , Tony thought darkly. 

“Fri, scan every face in that crowd. Let me know if you come up with any matches for Sidney Banks.” He kicked a foot up onto the coffee table in the living area of the penthouse, staring blankly to his left while FRIDAY reviewed the footage for him, unable to watch any longer for fear of the creeping panic attack stirring in his gut. The building exploded with Peter inside for the second time in a row and Tony flinched, wrapping his arms around his midsection protectively. Who was he kidding with this effort, he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t-

“Match found.” 

Tony opened his eyes as he sucked in a breath. “What…?” he whispered as he brought his eyes back up towards the screen in front of him. FRIDAY had cut the 10 minute clip down to a mere 30 second loop, zooming in on the face of their subject. Sidney Banks looked panicked and distraught as she dragged the body of a teenage boy in boxers out of the burning building. The body was limp and had a T-shirt tied over its head, obscuring the face from anyone's view. 

_“...I dragged him from the building and left another to burn in his place…”_

Tony stood and stuffed shaking hands under his armpits. Banks was screaming as paramedics surrounded her and the boy, but Tony couldn’t make out what she was saying over the commotion and roar of the fire. Tony watched as they loaded the kid up in the ambulance, the wailing woman following right behind them and began to take off just as he arrived on scene and the building exploded in a flash of flame. 

The kid's face had been covered the entire time.

Tony sat back down as the clip began to replay itself, a thought forming in the front of his brain. “What time did we receive that distress call from the Spider-Man suit that night?” 

FRIDAY paused a second. “12:01 A.M sir, but we received the notification that the Parker residence was-” Tony flapped a hand to shut her up for the moment.

“And what time did Ms. Banks first appear on camera?” 

“12:03 A.M.,” FRIDAY answered and Tony hummed. Two minutes. Two minutes to incapacitate Spider-Man, remove the suit, and then remove the body from the building. 

It was possible.

Tony clutched at his hair as a groan of frustration worked its way up his throat. He had been learning how to accept Peter's death for eight months- he couldn’t throw it away for one woman who happened to be at the apartment building that night. 

But hope flared in his chest, ridiculous and unbelievably strong. It tugged him onwards with ferocity even though the logical part of his mind was screaming at the sheer ludicrousy of the situation. 

He needed evidence, concrete and foolproof, because now? He wasn’t so sure that Peter was really dead.

“FRIDAY, is there anyone currently working in the morgue?” Nausea swirled in his stomach at the mere concept of what he would need to do next. Peters body had been kept frozen for science with the consent of May Parker, but all attempts made on reproducing his enhancements had proved to be useless. _Why?_

“The morgue is currently empty.” 

Tony rubbed at his forehead as he resigned himself for the task to come. “Keep it that way for me, honey. I’m going down.” 

One thing Tony could have never imagined himself doing in his wildest dreams was performing an autopsy with the assistance of his AI on the corpse of Peter Benjamin Parker… and yet, here he was with tears in his eyes, convulsively swallowing back bile as he stood over the pieces of what used to be a teenage boy, scalpel in hand. 

He closed his eyes and made the incision. 

He managed to collect all the samples FRIDAY required all while trying his best to avoid having a complete mental breakdown. When he was finished his knees gave out and he crawled to the closest bathroom to throw up. He wretched until he couldn’t anymore and meekly curled into a ball on the cold, hard floor, numb and sick with the reality of what he had just done. He made no sound as he cried and FRIDAY did the rest of the work for him.

“Sir, you seem to be in emotional distress, shall I contact Colonel Rhodes, or Pepper Potts for you?” 

Tony rolled over onto his back, starfish style as he stared at the ceiling. “No, no, it’s fine. I- I’m fine.” He wiped at his mouth as he sat up, the taste of vomit still trapped in his teeth. “Are you finished yet?” 

“Analysis complete.”

Tony swallowed, wary of her answer. “What's the consensus?” 

“Anomalies were found when comparing the samples of Peter Parker on file, and the samples recently collected from the presumed remains of said persons.” Tony’s breath hitched with disbelief. “This body does not belong to Peter Parker.” 

Tony leapt to his feet, breathing erratically as he raised his hands to the sides of his head. His body trembled as his mind screamed _he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive_. “What- who’s body is this then?” 

FRIDAY presented a hologram of the profile of a teenage boy. “Samples match those of Joseph Myra from US data banks.” Tony took in the information that FRIDAY had brought forth. The kid had gone missing two weeks before the incident at the Parker residence and hadn’t been found yet. Eight months later and he was presumed dead. Tony was astounded at the similarities between the facial features of Myra and Peter. They were almost identical. 

Tony felt like he couldn’t breathe. There were too many questions swimming in the pool of his mind- someone had obviously planned this out and Tony needed to know why, but more importantly who. 

He scrambled for his phone, hands shaking like the earth was quaking and dialed in the number written on the note in his pocket. 

It rang three times before the line was answered. 

“Hello?”

“I believe you.” Tony's voice echoed across the line, the furthest thing from calm. 

Banks was silent for a moment. “...Stark?” 

“Where is he?” Tony needed answers and he needed them _now_. 

She laughed in the face of his anxiety. “Do you know how hard I’m fighting the urge to tell you ‘I told you so’?” 

“Where the hell is he, Banks?!” He shouted at her, shame finding no place amongst his raging emotions. 

“Well, well, hold your horses. You see, my last employer promised me a good sum of money. They fell quite short. I’ll give you what you want… for a price.” 

Tony would do anything to find Peter, _anything_. “Name it.” 

“Ten million.”

Tony shrugged. “Done. I’ll have my accountant send you a check, no questions asked, but first, you tell me where the _fuck_ my kid is, Banks,” he lowered his voice drastically as he spoke the last words of the sentence. 

The woman suddenly went quiet and Tony feared that he had scared her into keeping her secret before she started again. “I was only hired to start the fire and kidnap the boy behind the mask, so I don’t know exactly where they took him after I completed my mission...” she started and Tony's blood went cold with disappointment. “However, I can say for sure who my employer was.”

Tony's heart was thundering in his chest. “Who?” 

“Secretary Thaddeus Ross.” 

His world plummeted. _Oh god_ , Tony thought. 

Peter was on the fucking _raft_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe come at me in the comments, dogs


	8. We looked both left and right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they got him back, would he even be the same?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its been roughly a month since I last posted and I AM SO SORRY. Life is a bitch. Here is your reward for being so patient... may I present to you... the longest chapter I have ever written in my LIFE. 
> 
> I love everyone who has taken the time out of their day to come and read this story (it really means a lot to me) but most of all I love my beta reader @Clover-rose. She is such a BAMF and you should go read some of her works!
> 
> No warnings for this chapter, just sit back and enjoy the irondad!

Tony stood at the end of the long table, his hair dishevelled and his entire appearance utterly unkempt. He had called an emergency Avengers meeting as he had sprinted down the hall to the elevator after his discovery in the morgue, leaving no time to tidy himself up. Tony couldn’t care less about his appearance, as there was only one thing on his mind and it trumped anything else that could ever matter. 

“Peter is alive.” 

The room may have been quiet before, but it was nothing like the heavy silence that hushed the small space as eyebrows quirked and sideways glances bounced back and forth. Tony held his breath as he waited for a response but no one seemed in a rush to speak up. 

Tony pulled off his glasses and set his hands on the table with enough force to rattle the glass panel. “Is no one listening to me?” He seethed, and Rhodey suddenly let out a deep sigh, burying his face in his hands as the rest of the present avengers sent completely baffled and confused looks Tony's way. 

Sam was the first to sound off. “Peter… Parker? As in Spider-Man?” Tony nodded once, thankful that the quiet had finally been broken. If it wasn’t for the urgency of the situation, Tony would be slightly put off by the faces that owned his attention. It was a strange sensation to be surrounded by his teammates once again after 8 months of deliberately avoiding them. 

Natshas chair squeaked as she pulled her feet off the glass table. “Are you feeling okay, Tony?” 

“Tony, I...” Steve began slowly before Tony could respond to Nats question, arms tightly resting across his chest. “Maybe you should-”

Tony waved a hand in the air, rolling his eyes. “Look, I know what you’re all gonna say, but I wasn’t finished.” The avengers stared him down, words unspoken hidden behind their eyelids, scrutinizing his sanity. “I have proof.”

When no one responded right away, Tony ordered FRIDAY to read out the reports of the research and tests he had conducted and watched as their expressions changed from disbelief to complete horror. 

“So, if he didn’t die that night, then… what the hell happened?” Rhodey asked, an air of seriousness in his tone. “And why the secrecy, why-” He paused to wave his hands in the air. “Why the elaborate cover?”

“Someone took him...” All eyes turned on the woman who spoke. Natasha had her elbows pressed against the table in front of her, her mouth drawn in a straight line. “...and you know who did.” It wasn’t a question. 

Tony nodded, grim. “Thaddeus Ross.” 

Sam sat up in his seat at the mention of the name, anger flashing across his eyes. “Let me get this straight, Peter Parker has been alive this whole time… and he’s what, on the _raft_?”

Tony shrugged, stuffing shaking hands into his pant pockets. “It’s the only logical place Ross would keep him- seeing as it's the only thing he has jurisdiction over since the new accords went up.”

“But… that’s illegal…” Nat looked around the room as she spoke up. “There was no trial, and even then, Spider-Man operates under the direction of the avengers. He’s not a freelancer anymore.” 

Tony finally took a seat as Rhodey nodded in agreement with Natashas statement. “We set up these new accords so this _exact_ thing wouldn’t happen.” 

“Steve,” Tony began, pleading with the captain, the one man who had stayed silent throughout the ordeal. “Ross has had my kid imprisoned for eight months straight… please, we have to do something.” 

Steve uncrossed his arms as he shrugged minutely. “Ross broke the rules.” The blond rested his knuckles against the glass table and stood. “That means we have the responsibility to set things right.” The man's gaze panned around the room and his mouth turned to a sad smile as he locked eyes with Tony. “Everyone, suit up and meet in the hangar bay in twenty minutes. I think we have some avenging to do.” 

Tony was rarely ever at a loss for words, yet he sat speechless and dumbfounded as he watched his teammates stand and begin to follow their orders. It was almost too much for Tony to wrap his head around. Peter was alive and they were on their way to get him. 

Eight months of grief and suffering. Eight whole months of awkward conversations and drunken arguments with strangers and people he loved dearly. Avoidance and guilt and built up emotions that would periodically come spewing out, often aimed at whoever was closest if not the man in the mirror. He had wasted his time wallowing in misery when he could have been out searching for the clues that were oh so obvious- and Peter… he had spent the entirety of it all locked up and alone with a monster. 

When they got him back, would he even be the same? 

Steve was the last of the avengers to leave the room but he paused in the doorway for a moment, turning to face Tony after correcting his posture. “Are you coming with us?” 

Tony huffed a small laugh as he got to his feet. “Are you joking? Of course I am, Capsicle, don’t you think I’ve been sitting on my ass for far too long?” 

Steve smirked as he stepped back to let Tony slide through the door. “That’s what I like to hear, Tony.”

Even with the revelation of Peter's predicament, Tony still couldn’t bring himself to go to the lab to grab his armour, at least not until Peter was back home safe and sound. It still seemed wrong to enter that room where so many good memories had been made without the partner that had helped create them. But still, he couldn’t enter the raft without some form of protective tech, so just to be safe he fastened his wrist watch gauntlet around his arm and secured the housing unit for his nanoparticles to the clean sweatshirt that he wore. It was still a prototype, but it would do in a pinch. 

Tidied up for the first time in forever, Tony felt a bit like his old self again. It was nice, refreshing even, to look in the mirror and not utterly despise the thing he saw in its reflection. With one last deep breath, Tony left the penthouse to meet up with his friends. If there was a spring in his step, nobody he passed in the halls commented on it. 

It was time to go get his kid. 

It was blatant that Tony had lost an ounce of his professionalism in his time off of the avenging business because he was the last to arrive in the hangar bay. He met Steve on the ramp of the hightech jet and could see Sam, Natasha, and Rhodey bustling inside its belly. They were all Tony had for this mission as the only avengers and residents of the compound, but he was more than grateful for them. 

Steve matched Tony's smaller stride as he caught up to his place on the ramp. “So what's the plan, we just gonna barge in there?” Tony asked.

“It worked for me last time.” Steve answered nonchalantly.

Tony's steps faltered and he frowned. “Things have changed since then, Rogers. Ross wasn’t expecting a break out.” 

Steve stopped abruptly and Tony followed suit, matching expressions meeting eye to eye. “And you think he is now?” 

Tony shook his head. “No, no, but things are different… after the Sokovia accords were abolished, he…” Tony thought back to the last time he had ever seen that man. Ross had been livid, absolutely outraged at the prospect of losing almost all of his authority and most of all, fuming at the reality of losing to Tony Stark.

_”Mark my words Stark...” Ross had spat while Tony had grinned and blown him kisses, “...One day- one day, you’re going to regret that you had ever crossed me.”_

“Oh god.” Tony whispered as he remembered.

“Tony?” Steve's voice was laced with concern as he stepped forward worryingly.

Tony dragged his gaze off of where it had become glued to the floor as he thought back to that wondrous day. They had won, but now that Peter had been taken… had they really?

“This is personal, Steve. This is a vendetta and he took Peter because of it.” Tony's world was beginning to spin lazily around him as he fought to catch his breath. Steve's eyes went comically wide as they both recognized the warning signs of an oncoming anxiety attack. 

Tony felt sick to his stomach as Steve gently rested a hand on his shoulder and guided him into a seated position. “What Ross has done is illegal thanks to you and the new accords.” Steve started quietly, as Tony closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands, attempting to smother his panic. “The raft is supposed to be for enhanced individuals who have broken the law. He had no right to do what he did and he knows it. With the help of SHIELD we’ll put _him_ behind bars.” Tony blew out a breath as he nodded slowly. “I’ll see to it myself, Tony.”

Tony willed his tense muscles to relax as he grabbed at the hand that still rested firmly on his shoulder. He was still blinking angry tears from his vision as he gave the captain a curt nod as a silent ‘thank you.’ Now was no time to get sentimental, they had a kid to rescue. 

With one final inhale, the pair stood from their spot on the ramp and entered the jet. Natasha took the pilot's seat once she spotted the duo, sliding a headset over her braided hair as Steve walked over to take the neighboring chair. Within moments the dull hum of the jet engines starting up began to rattle the walls as they lifted off the ground, out of the hangar bay, and into the air. 

Tony was too anxious to sit with his comrades. Bouncing his knee so fast it called everyone's attention but Natashas, he began to pace the small area at the rear of the quinjet. No one dared to say a word to him as he wandered, his pace gradually increasing as he thought of all the different ways he was going to kill Ross when he found him. 

There were thousands of ideas floating around his head. Strangulation, bullet wounds, or even just punching the fucker until his brain juices leaked from every crevice on his face. Tony could make it slow. Draw it out. Make Ross feel every ounce of the agony that he had put Tony through. Torture him like he tortured Peter. 

Tony hovered over the metal cot that had been set up with a variety of medical supplies. _For Peter_. He prayed to a higher power that Peter wouldn’t need to use anything but the bed. 

Tony was terrified of what he would find in the stomach of that damned prison the second time around. Ross had put Wanda in a shock collar and straight jacket when it was legal to do so, but now that it wasn’t? What sick things had that man done to the poor kid trapped inside the metal walls?

“Tony.” Someone called to him. Sam. “We’re here, they need you up front.” 

Tony nodded to the winged avenger and wasted no time making his way over to where Steve and Natasha both sat. The sight before him stole his breath, and he peered over the large window pane and stared into the depths of the ocean below. The sun had begun to set and its rays casted orange hues across the rushing waves, but Tony could still see the shape of an enormous structure hidden just underneath the surface. 

“What is it?” Tony asked.

Natasha flicked up the microphone wire on her headset as she turned to look at him. “They’re asking for security codes.” 

Tony's mouth was set in a firm line as he nodded, and stole Steve's seat beside Nat. “FRIDAY, give me access codes to the raft prison,” he muttered to his watch as he typed with his free hand. FRIDAY did as she was told, immediately bringing up a list of codes to choose from. Tony had already memorized the first group of digits before the list was even completed. 

He side-eyed Natasha. “Ready.” 

The red head pulled her microphone wire back to her lips. “Entering security codes now. Please standby.” 

Tony took the cue, entering in the code that would give them entrance to the building below them. After a rough minute of processing, the water below them began to part as the prison forced its way up through the ocean, metal gleaming in the light of the sun. Tony stood, absolutely buzzing with apprehension as the hangar bay doors on the top began to open and the quinjet began to descend. 

Steve was giving orders to the team as they touched down, but Tony couldn’t focus on a word the captain was saying. Peter was close by. He could feel it and it overwhelmed any and everything else. 

The quinjet doors opened with a hiss and Tony was the first one down the ramp, Steve hot on his heels. 

A man in a military jumpsuit was waiting near the foot of the jet with his nose buried in a clipboard. When he looked up to the sight of the avengers parading towards him, he did a double take, his jaw dropping a fraction. “You- you’re not our supplement shipment…” 

Steve was the first to speak up. “No, son.”

The man turned to run, likely to go and start the alarm, but Tony was faster. Tony grabbed his arm and tugged him close, activating his wrist gauntlet and pressing it into the man's back as a threat. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. We want to make this as easy as possible.” 

He held the man still as Steve sent the others to go and secure the control room and detain the personnel working inside. The captain remained behind Tony, standing sentry over the pair. 

Tony continued once the others passed by. “Now, if you’re willing to cooperate, tell us where that bastard boss of yours is.” 

The man swallowed. “I don’t know.” 

Tony growled in his ear as he tightened his grip on the man's arm and let his repulsor charge up. The sound reverberated around the hangar bay and the man squirmed in Tony's hold.   
“I’m serious!” he shouted. “No one has seen him since he left last night, I swear, I swear!” 

Tony huffed out a breath at the admission as he let go of the man and shoved him into Steve's chest. He had no doubt the man was telling the truth, but Ross was a snake, he could be anywhere. 

He tipped his head towards the control room where they could see the avengers rounding up all the people inside. “Put him with the others.” 

Tony trailed behind the super soldier as he gently ushered the man into the control room and into the corner with the other personnel. Tony couldn’t bear to look at them. He hated every single one of them for having anything to do with the raft and Ross. 

“Tony.” Rhodey beckoned him over to where he stood over a computer screen. “Found Peter. Fifteenth floor down, section A, cell five.”

Tony squared his shoulders as he turned his head to face the set of double doors in the opposite wall. He steeled himself for the horrors on the other side, “I’m going down.”

“I’ll come with you.” Steve stepped into his line of sight. “I know my way around here, and you’ll need back up if we meet resistance.” 

“Okay,” Tony agreed easily. He wouldn’t mind the help. He glanced at the others to see if they had anything else to add before he and Steve went to get Peter.

Rhodey's armour whirred as he shuffled into a new stance. “I’ll stay here, watch the cameras, keep an eye out for Ross.”

“Alright then,” Steve started, “Sam, Nat, you’re with us. Scout the floors for any sign of Ross, and place him under arrest. Use force if necessary. Keep all comm channels open in case of emergency.” Steve stepped up beside Tony. “Let's get this show on the road.” 

Tony chained his hesitation in a steel box and buried it in the furthest corner of his mind. Without further ado, he turned on his heel and pushed through the double doors, heading directly for the stairwell at the opposite end of the hallway. Sam and Natasha were silent as they broke off from the pack to scout the floors, Tony only realizing that they were gone when he stopped to examine the blotchy brown stains littered all over the stairs. 

He ran his fingers over the dried liquid and gasped once he realized what it was. 

“Blood,” Steve noted, and Tony stood. “A few days old by the looks of it.”

Tony was suddenly filled with dread. “We have to hurry.” 

Tony took off down the stairs as fast as he could, counting the numbers on the walls until he reached the fifthteenth floor, Steve directly behind him. They had been extremely lucky that they had yet to run into any guards, that was, lucky until Tony forced his way through the newest set of double doors. 

Two guards dressed in full tactical gear were marching down the long hallway towards them. Tony didn’t even have time to register the situation before Steve's shield was whizzing past him in a blur and ricocheting off their chests before returning to its owner. 

Tony tipped his head in gratitude. “Thanks.”

The two guards lay unmoving on the floor as Tony approached their unconscious bodies. One of the men had been carrying a tray of food, its contents already missing. Someone had just had dinner. Tony kneeled as he and Steve patted down each of the guards, and Tony nabbed a fancy looking key card off the belt of one of the men.

He clutched the device in his fingers as he scanned the walls for the letters painted above his head. They were in section D, but Peter was being held in section A. Tony wandered further down the hall before he found a new hallway and another one after that, before the lettering climbed down the alphabet and he found the section he needed. 

Section A was being held shut by a thick steel door. Tony's fingers were numb as he fumbled with the key card after noticing the small slot in the door. It was harder than necessary to swipe it due to his shaking hands, and Tony knew for sure that Steve had noticed even if the bigger man hadn’t said anything about it. Tony didn’t have time to feel embarrassed. The large door creaked loudly while churning its gears as it opened to reveal a well lit chamber. 

He stepped inside and spotted what he was looking for immediately. 

Cell five appeared to be empty at first, but when Tony looked closer at the bed, he could see a small figure curled up under the blanket, tufts of long curls poking out at the sides. He may have only been able to see a portion of his shaggy head, but Tony _knew_ it was his kid. 

The key card tumbled to the floor as Tony ran up to the glass. 

“Peter!” His hands came to rest against the cold surface and he looked the tall door up and down. “Peter, it’s me!” 

Peter's blanket slowly fell from his face and Tony watched as the boy lifted himself onto one elbow, confusion morphed with disbelief and shock written on his face. “Mr- Mr Stark?” Peter's voice was hoarse and scratchy but it was like music to Tony's ears. “You’re… here? For me?” 

It had been so long. Too long. 

Tony was frantically patting down the door, locking for any signs of a lock or key of some sort while simultaneously watching Peter stiffly sit up all the way. The kid had one arm wrapped tightly around his midsection where Tony could see the outline of bandages underneath his ugly prison uniform. 

His heart fell. Peter was hurt.

“Of course I’m here for you, kiddo. I… I should’ve been here a long time ago.” He stopped what he was doing at the sound of Peter groaning in pain. The teen had was attempting to stand with the help of his bed, but obviously the new position was tugging on whatever injury was hidden under his shirt. “Take it easy, Pete, we’re gonna get you out.”

“Tony.” Steve gestured to a key pad inserted into the left of Peter's door as he spoke, and with Tony's quick nod he began punching in random numbers. 

“I’m not dead, Mr. Stark. He- he wanted you to think I was dead.” Peter's face was stretched into a tight grimace as he staggered to the door and their hands met, separated by glass alone. Tony saw tears in Peter's eyes and felt the burning of his own as the two drank in each other's images for the first time in eight months. 

“This can’t be real,” Peter whispered before he slid down the glass door, unable to hold himself up any longer. Tony crouched to match his level, panic creeping up his throat at the sight of Peter suffering on his own even with himself only inches away. 

“I’m here Peter, I’m… I’m going to get you out.” Tony cursed as he looked over to see Steve still struggling with the lock. His eyes roamed the room as he wrestled to find any sort of tool that could help them, when they caught the sight of a blinking red light in the corner of the room. A security camera. “You wanna do something about this door, Rhodes?!” he shouted as Peter's hand fell off the glass, connection broken.

A near minute passed before they all heard the clunk of something shifting, and then the door was opening before their eyes. 

Tony dropped to his knees as Peter tipped forward without the support of the glass, catching him in a soft hug before he could fall to the floor. Peter stiffened at the abrupt contact but Tony refused to release the boy he had mourned for all this time. Eventually, Peter sagged into his mentor's hold with a soft gasp as his energy depleted itself. Tony held Peter close as the urge to cry overwhelmed him and he ran his fingers through the kids hair as he tucked Peters head under his chin. Tentatively, Peter lifted his thin arms around Tony's middle and hugged him back with whatever strength he had left. 

“I’m sorry,” They both blurted at once before pulling back with meek, wet laughter. 

Tony reached out to cup Peter's face in his hands, brushing away tears with his thumbs as he went. Tony suddenly frowned. The kid was burning up. His cheeks were flushed and his skin was overly warm even though he was obviously shivering. He stared deep into Peter's fevered eyes. “God, Pete, what did they do to you?” 

Out of nowhere, Peter was throwing himself back into Tony's arms with full sobs catching his every breath. “I’m sorry… I gave up on you… I thought I’d never see you again.” Peter cried into Tony's chest and Tony held him close through it all.

Tony shushed him kindly. “No, no Peter, _I’m_ sorry. It was _me_ who gave up on _you_.” Peter was shaking in his arms. “God, I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” Tony untangled the hair at the nape of Peters neck, pausing momentarily when he felt fresh stitches there. Odd.

Tony wanted to get off the raft and get Peter proper medical care as soon as possible, but it was hard to make any movements with Peter when he had yet to catch his breath. Tony wasn’t known to be a patient man, not in the slightest, but sitting on the floor with his kid wrapped in his arms, living, and crying and so beautifully _alive_ , was something he wouldn’t rush for the world. 

It was when Tony thought Peter was falling asleep in his arms that he nudged him gently to arouse him. “You falling asleep there, kiddo?”

Peter hummed as he pulled his head out of Tony's chest, big brown eyes foggy with fever. “Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?” His face cracked into a lopsided grin as Tony snorted at the joke. Tony hadn’t watched Star Wars since… well, since he thought Peter had died. 

“Let’s get you on your feet, huh? I think it’s time we got you out of here.” Tony rubbed at Peters back as he steadily got to his feet, joints protesting at the awkward position he had been seated in and offering a hand to the boy on the floor. 

Peter nodded, “Okay.” and took the offered limb with a firm grip, putting the majority of his weight on Tony as he pulled himself upright with a grimace. 

Peter took one limping step forward before he toppled into the wall, barely catching himself with his hands as Tony latched onto his shoulders to hold him steady. Peter's breaths were ragged and Tony made to pull Peter's free arm over his shoulders but stopped when Peter began to protest. 

“D- don’t. I can walk on my own.” Peter shrugged out of Tonys grip and started moving forwards again at an agonizingly slow pace. Tony didn’t know what to do so he followed close behind the kid, hands at the ready, ready for Peter to fall, Steve picking up the rear. 

Peter was limping- badly- using the wall as support as he trudged down the hallway. Whatever had happened to his midsection must have been gruesome enough to render him nearly immobile, Tony was thankful that he had survived whatever had caused the injury, but was angered that it had happened in the first place. Who would do such a thing to an innocent child? 

Tony was surprised to see that Peter knew his way to the stairwell, but wasn’t surprised when the kid doubled over in pain with a low moan and slid down the wall directly below the beginning of the staircase. 

“Shit- Peter? Peter!” Tony cursed himself for letting Peter walk this far on his own, but Peter was nothing if he wasn’t a stubborn little shit. He placed a hand on Peter's forehead again and winced at the heat he felt there. “Damn it, Steve, he’s burning up.” 

Peter patted Tony on the head. “ ‘m fine, jus’ wanna go home…” he slurred and Tony grabbed at his flailing hand. 

“ _You_ are not _fine_ , kiddo…” He turned to face the man he should have confronted a while ago. “Steve… do you think you could…?” He gestured to Peter with his free hand. 

Steve stepped closer to the pair on the ground. “It’s not a problem Tony, I was just waiting for your permission.” Tony stood and gave Steve room to step in and scoop Peter into his arms as gentle as possible, but Peter still hissed in pain. “Sorry Peter.” Steve apologized and Tony watched as Peter's expression changed from confusion to awe.

“You’re Captain America.” Peter stated as if he was seeing the man for the first time since they arrived.

Steve chuckled as he began going up the stairs. “Yes I am.” 

“And you’re carryin’ me.” Peter pointed out the obvious. Tony smiled and shook his head as he watched the two interact. 

“Yes I am.” Steve answered again. 

“I’m being carried by Captain America…” Peter spotted Tony over Steve's shoulder and grinned. “Hey Mr. Stark, I’m being carried by Captain America.” 

Tony felt a wisp of the darkness in his mind slip away as he listened to the sound of Peter's voice, and a real, genuine laugh crept up his throat for the first time in eight months. “Yes you are Peter, yes you are.” 

They made it back to the control room without issue and Steve passed Peter into Tony's arms as he left to check in with Natasha and Sam about Ross’ whereabouts. Peter made no sound as he was maneuvered into his mentor's arms, and Tony held him with ease, remarking to himself how light Peter had gotten. 

Tony spotted Rhodey at his station and waved him over with a quirk of his head. The soldier stepped closer at the invite and raised a gloved hand, aiming for Peter. A warm blue light swept over his limp body and after a few seconds the War Machine helmet opened up. The colonel's eyes softened at the sight of Peter laying loose and half-awake in his best friend's arms and he cast Peter a sad smile. 

“Is it bad?” Tony asked at the sight of his friend's expression. 

Rhodey met his eyes. “He’s going to need medical attention. The sooner the better.” 

Tony chewed at his ip as he found Peters half-lidded gaze, staring straight through his chest. He didn't want to admit it, but the kid was starting to add some unwanted strain to his back. Rhodey seemed to sense this. “Let’s get him to the jet.” 

Rhody set a hand between Tony's shoulder blades as the two exited the control room and entered the hangar bay. They were almost free, almost out, only a few paces away from the lip of the quinjets ramp. Then Peter started to squirm. 

“Wait, wait… Mr. Stark... Tony.” Tony tried to hold onto the struggling teen but relented his hold after a moment, and set him on his feet beside him. 

“What’s wrong Pete?” Tony held Peters bicep tightly, afraid that he may keel over again. 

“I can’t go... I can’t leave here, not yet.” Peter looked distraught, and on the verge of tears. 

Tony was confused as he searched his kids face for answers. “What- why?” 

Peter grabbed at the back of his neck. “There’s something-” Peter suddenly cut himself off, eyes going wide.

“GET DOWN!” Steve screamed. 

Many things began to happen at once. So fast, it was as if time had come screeching to a snail's pace. 

The sound of multiple guns cocking at once filled the drums of Tony's ears before a shower of bullets were released in their direction. Tony tackled Peter to the floor just as the glass wall of the control room shattered and sharp shards bit at Tonys skin. Peter choked back a cry at the harsh shove and Tony apologized a million times inside his head as he laid on top of the kid, using his own body as a human shield to protect Peter from becoming injured further.

It only took a second for Rhodey to activate his armour and begin firing back, and in the moment of reprieve Tony heard Steve shout again, “Tony get the kid out of here _now_!” 

Adrenaline stormed through Tony's veins and he rushed to stand, hoisting Peter to his feet beside him, ignoring Peter's protests and pulling him to safety. They had only taken a few steps when Peter crumpled to the ground with a shout, doubled over and twitching as if he were being electrocuted. The avengers were shouting directions and sprinting towards them all at once, blinding Tony with all the new sensory inputs. In his panic he grabbed his missing kid, and slinging him over his shoulder, ran the rest of the way to the jet, fear tenfolding when Peter didn’t stop writhing and crying.

The avengers filed in after Tony as he laid Peter on the cot at the back of the jet. Someone sat at the helm and activated the quinjet. Tony's hands hovered over Peter's chest before he decided to pin down Peter's shoulders to the cot to keep him from falling off the table during take off. 

Something was seriously wrong and Tony didn’t know what to do. 

Peter was crying as strangled screams forced their way up his throat, and he kept thrashing against Tonys hold. The kids movements only seemed to grow more intense the farther they got from the prison.

“FRIDAY, scan him!” someone with more brain cells than Tony shouted over to pof the ruckus. Steve was suddenly at Tonys side, holding down Peter's legs. 

There was a pause as FRIDAY did her calculations. “There is a small technological device implanted between vertebra C3 and C4 that is emitting a series of electrical impulses.”

Tony felt sick to his stomach. The nature of the implant brought back distant memories of Obidiah Stane and his cruel designs for the old Stark Industries tech. 

“How do we turn it off?” Steve hollered.

If this was what he thought it was… “We have to get it out!” Tony yelled. “Shit, I need something sharp!” 

Sam was by his side in an instant, scalpel in hand. “I’ve got it, Tony. Just hold him still for me.” Wilsons voice was calm despite the chaos, and Tony found himself fully trusting the younger man for the first time since Rhodeys accident. 

Tony wrapped his arms around his convulsing kid and pulled him into an upright position, folding Peters neck downwards and pushing his choppy hair away from the incision site. It looked to be freshly installed and Tony was more than grateful for that fact. 

Sam's hands were as steady as could be as he swiftly sliced through the thread and skin on the back of Peter's neck and removed the small black chip with the tip of his blade. Tony felt himself pale at the sight of the sinister object. How Ross had managed to get his hands on that tech, Tony didn’t know, but the man was as good as dead.

Upon its immediate removal, Peter sucked in a sharp breath and went totally limp in Tony's grasp. Tony breathed a sigh of relief as he tenderly laid his unconscious body back down onto the cot. It was over. The vibrant Peter Parker, who had been through so much, was finally back in his life again.

Tony brushed back Peter's bangs from his forehead and leaned forwards to plant a kiss there. 

“Rest now, kiddo. I’ve got you now. I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spill your guts in the comments :)

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments and kudos (they are writing fuel!!)
> 
> I just joined tumblr! you can find me @jaybaybay-01 :)


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